tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39224269719727924932024-02-22T11:50:14.742-05:00Polka dot CloversJust add vodka.Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-10097148682071575562013-01-25T13:42:00.000-05:002013-01-29T10:18:21.779-05:00A Lot of People Google Tits and Booty.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Guys! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you’re still out there- there’s something I need to
tell you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I’m not dead. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also want to assure you that I’m not in a vegetative state
where my fingers stopped working and my brain stopped producing funnies. I still produce funnies. Although there’s
nothing funny about being in a vegetative state, so I take that part back. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is not going as I’d hoped. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Let’s put it this way: I’m balls-deep in life stuff. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I know you don’t want to hear my excuses, but too fucking
bad. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><b>Here they are</b>:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
1-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->I
got a new job. A real job. A job that allows for very little
blogging-while-working-but-I’m-not-really-working-but-don’t-tell-my-boss
time. Upside? I make more money and I
get to intimidate the fuck out of people…but I’ll admit that I miss you guys.
You helped me get through some pretty bleak times and writing this blog <s>at
work</s> at home was a fantastic fucking waste of time. </blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote>
<o:p></o:p>2-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->I
am back at school. Yes. You heard me. School.
Yours truly is back on campus, playing flip cup, beer pong and banging all the
frat boys from here to <st1:place w:st="on">Nantucket</st1:place>!*</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*</span><span style="font-size: x-small;">I’m not doing any of those things. Being in night school is like going
to an Overeater’s Anonymous meeting in a church basement - full of greasy weirdoes
and no motherfucking cookies. I’m totally up for a game of flip cup, though,
guys. BRING IT.</span> </blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote>
<i></i>3-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]-->I’m
in, what some may call, a “serious” relationship. Despite wanting to throat punch whoever
coined the term ‘serious’ when it pertains to relationships, I will embrace the
term because this is serious. fucking. business. Love is a whole lot of crazy,
guys. I know this blog isn’t here for me
to ramble on about the perfect love of my life, but you know what? She is the
best thing that’s ever happened to me, so deal with it. I’m talking about it. I never expected to get so engulfed in someone.
ever. But here I am. <i>(Read: I’m too busy
having sex and cuddling to write blog posts.)</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I promise that I do still creep through your blogs to catch
up and giggle. Although I haven’t completely disappeared, to those of you
asking <i>Where the FUCK have you been, Skank!?</i>
You now have your answer. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I’m sorry that I cannot tickle your tonsils and diaphragms
with my wit and charm like I used to (let me have that), however, I sincerely
appreciate all of your encouragement and perversion over the course of this
whole blogging experience. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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You guys are the motherfucking tits.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>P.S. I also got my driver's license. After 10 years of procrastination. Watch the fuck out, world. Mama's gunna run you over.</i></div>
Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-46419457589199472942012-08-23T17:33:00.000-04:002012-08-23T17:36:59.419-04:00If You Need Me, I'll Be Locked in the Bathroom.<br />
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I want to talk to you about my relationship with bathrooms.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Before you click away from this page with your nose high,
thinking “I don’t need to hear about poop, thankyouverymuch”, let me assure you
this post has nothing to do with bodily functions. At least that’s not the
plan… I can’t make any guarantees. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you’re my sister or my parents, the content of this post
will come as no surprise to you. I should mention, however, if you are my
parents, please stop reading this blog and pretend you never found it. Your
daughter is a sweet, innocent girl who hardly ever calls people motherfuckers.
I promise. Probably. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now back to bathrooms… </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I grew up in an old house in <st1:city w:st="on">Ottawa</st1:city>, with my mom, my dad and my older
sister. That’s right, y’all, I’m the baby of the house. I’ll be the first to
admit I was a temperamental little bitch of a child, and I had no problem
letting people know exactly how I felt. About everything. All the time. I know it’s pretty hard to imagine me as an
outspoken little twat, but try and use your imagination. </div>
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<br /></div>
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When I reflect on my childhood ‘traumas’ two things come to
mind. 1) I was very prone to getting the wind knocked out of me. 2) I was very
prone to making shit hit the fan and losing my cool. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Let me clarify that the first of those two things is not
related to some sort of health problem. I liked to roughhouse. A lot. And more
often than not ended up rolling around on the floor, gasping, as my lungs tried
to recover from the sudden shock of my body slamming against the ground. It’s important to note that more often than
not, I caused the fall on my own. I think it goes without saying that I was a
pretty cool fucking kid. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Now let’s talk about the second item on that list. That’s
right, ladies and gents, my childhood is rich in shit-covered ceiling fans*. Every child deals with stress and anger
differently. Some kids throw stuff. Some kids break shit. Some kids punch
people. Some kids throw feces. I, however, would lock myself in the bathroom.
Every. Fucking. Time. I didn’t do this
in a peaceful manner, I did this in the most bratty, slap-worthy manner
possible. The door would need to be slammed at least two solid times, depending
on how close the adult was on my trail. Rest assured I would also scream a lot,
but only from behind the safe solace of a locked door coupled with a hefty
supply of toilet paper to soak up the tears. To this day I can’t scream without
crying. If I’m furious, I will weep like a little bitch. It’s just the way I’m
wired, and it’s just what’s going to happen if I yell at you. Don’t be fooled
by the tears. I will fucking cut you if I have to. But, you know, remorsefully.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Not literally. Sweet jesus! </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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I couldn’t tell you how many times I ended up in a screaming
fit with the back of the bathroom door. I’m pretty sure if I went to my
parent’s basement bathroom, I’d find dents in the wall from my pounding fists/face. The problem started at a young age. I can
recall my babysitter missing an exam because yours truly was a jumbo piece of
shit and decided a temper tantrum was more important than a future. Let’s not
talk about what that babysitter is doing now. </div>
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<br /></div>
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My personal favourite bathroom incident took place in a
hospital. Let me tell you a story. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Once upon a time, I was a jolly young tot who found a tree
full of caterpillars. It was the best fucking day ever. The caterpillars lit up
my world. So much so, that I got a plastic bowl and filled it with them. Then I
proceeded to run the short block home, yelling bloody murder for my mother’s
attention so she could witness my earth-shattering, delightful discovery. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The show and tell didn’t go quite as planned. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I fell. Hard. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I don’t even want to think about the caterpillar genocide
that took place that afternoon. </div>
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<br /></div>
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With my mom standing at the edge of the porch, she saw her
possibly-mentally-challenged daughter wipe out on the curb with a bowl full of
caterpillars. Unluckily for me, there also happened to be broken glass and
pebbles present at the scene of the crime. These things ended up in my knee. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Screaming and bleeding, I was rushed to the hospital. Once I
finally got to see a doctor, they decided they would not be putting me asleep
to remove the clutter from my knee. What
does an injured, traumatized child with a knee full of pebbles and glass
do? Make a b-line for the bathroom of
course! Using my advanced conversational
skills, I informed the doctor that I needed to pee. I got up and began to
saunter to the handicapped bathroom. A
light bulb in my mom’s head went off and she quickly began to follow me. The
woman knew I was heading for the only bathroom I could lock. My injured leg did
not hold me back. I got in there and locked the door. SWEET VICTORY. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My stay in that bathroom is a little bit foggy. I may have
been losing blood, but I cannot be certain. I can recall a team of people
outside of the door, trying to coerce me to come out. If memory serves, I
indulged in a can of grape soda and a cookie after they fixed up my knee, so
it’s probably safe to assume I was bribed. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Side note: You can no longer bribe me with grape soda and a
cookie. Liquor, however, is another story. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Needless to say, locking yourself in a bathroom accomplishes
very little, but man can it be a fun time. For years, I could have probably
listed all of the ingredients in the shampoo and told you exactly how many
bandaids were left in the medicine cabinet, but I don’t mean to brag. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m proud to say that I no longer lock myself in bathrooms.
On an unrelated note, I do have to look behind the shower curtain every time I
pee. Oh look, a bodily function reference. Like I said, no guarantees. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
***</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Did <i>you</i> have any special childhood hideouts
when you got in trouble? </div>
Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-47665241542308804822012-08-08T15:56:00.001-04:002014-12-11T15:06:44.013-05:00Sex on the Beach! Everybody's Doing It!<br />
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The beach is full of whores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Found in all shapes and sizes, beach whores are a breed of
women who lose all sense of dignity the moment they smell that breeze coming
off of the water. Once the sun hits their greasy, orange skin, all bets are
off. Except for slut bets. Those are still on. They're <i>always</i> on.</div>
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<br /></div>
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After spending an extended weekend at Wasaga Beach, a place
near and dear to my heart, namely for the day drinking, my awareness of this
slutnomenon (slut-phenomenon, stay with me folks) skyrocketed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The most shocking discovery? Age is not a
factor in ones whorability on the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m 90% sure one of the skanky grannies even had her ladybits cornrowed.
Why do I know this? Well, my friends, no one can wear a hot pink mesh thong and
expect discretion. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Beach culture perplexes me. Everyone is nearly naked and
covered in oil. Women lay straddling their boyfriends on their beach blankets,
as if passersby aren’t being forced to imagine them bangers’n’mashing, as
children sit nearby indulging in the delicacy of sand pie and lake tea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would think watching a bunch of screaming
kids eat dirt and pick their wedgies would be enough of a bonerkiller, but it
would appear that the beach whores are impermeable to such blatant reminders of
their sexual indiscretions.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Let’s go bang
in the lake, baby! The water is pretty much a condom anyway.</i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
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Watching men and women interact in the sand is like watching
Animal Planet. My homosexuality allows for objective observations. (It doesn’t
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i>, I just wanted to use the word
homosexuality today. It’s just one of those days.) Mating behaviours between
men and women are not unlike those between two women. When it boils down to it,
we all just really want to get it in. Am I right girls!? … Ok, so maybe some of
us are also looking for companionship and other hot topic items I’ve heard T-Swifty sing the living fuck out of, but let’s be real. Generally speaking, when you’re
flailing sand around like a drunk walrus with heat rash to get some beefcake’s
attention, you ain’t looking for a hubby. You lookin’ for an STI scare. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite the overwhelming abundance of cellulite, I’ll keep
the discussion of “beach bodies” to a minimum. Much like nude beaches, those
who chose to bare all/close to all are rarely ‘sexy’(I realize this is a very
big overgeneralization. Suck it.) This is probably going to surprise you, but
I’m not going to complain about it. If you’re comfortable flaunting your
stretch marks, saggy tits, microballs or thunder thighs, all the power to you.
You’re a fucking rockstar and I hope you don’t get skin cancer on your
labia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Regardless of what you wear or who you do on the beach, the
most important thing is to be sure you keep hydrated... (before you start
thinking I’m offering a piece of legitimately responsible advice, let me
elaborate) with liquor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you’re not
drunk, you’re not going to appreciate the beach whores or skanky grannies
nearly as much as you should. Besides, sand tastes <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">way</i></b> better after a 26 of
vodka and a handful of weed cookies. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Trust.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Pop Quiz! </b></div>
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What's your favo(u)rite beach moment? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me? Oh, you know, stepping on a used syringe is up at the top of my list... right behind getting my foot run over by a car. Ain't no thang. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
----</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;">
In the spirit of blog recognition, I have appointed a winner to last post's challenge! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;">
It was tough because I'm extremely in love with all of you, and your rhyming techniques do not fail to impress. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;">
The winner of the rap challenge is.... my dear fucking hilarious friend at <span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://cerebralmilkshake.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Cerebral Milkshake</a></b></span>!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;">
<b>Her submission: </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;">
<i>You know I fucking suck at rhymes<br />'Cause I don't do it all the time<br />Awe, don't throw a fit,<br />'Cause, chicka-check it, it's Britt<br />She all up in the boozing and baking<br />The writing she do is funny making<br />She lives up north in CanAyDia<br />And likes to drink Vodka and Gatoradia<br />Check her rockin' the fu manchu<br />She be in style when she says "achoo"<br />Now I gotta stop 'cause I'm laughing hard<br />'Cause this rhyme proves that Imma fucktard.<br /><br />THE END. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;">
(She had me at 'fu manchu'.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-37926416014290197732012-07-18T18:36:00.000-04:002014-12-11T15:07:01.574-05:00Let's Not Talk About Slapping Hoes<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m going to admit something to you, and you’re going to
judge me. I want you to know that your
judgment cannot permeate this tough, rugged exterior. I’m tough as nails,
bitches, and you can keep your raised eyebrows and audible sighs to yourself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Actually, no, wait. Please share them. I’m a sucker for a
little abuse. (Ok. Seriously? Two posts in a row that talk about punishment
and/or abuse? This is a whole new side to this blog. I don’t know about you
guys, but I’m excited.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ok, where was I? Oh right. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love hip-hop.
Seriously. I love it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love how offensive it is; I love that it makes no sense, I
love that it makes grown men make silly rhymes and pronounce words like ‘baby’ as
‘babay’ because it’s more badass. I love that grillz exist. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />I love that wearing a Band-Aid on your face can be cool. I
love that even in all of my pasty-white glory, I get an obscene amount of joy
out of shaking my ass like a poorly-endowed Beyonce while whipping my hair and
making milkshakes. (We’ve talked about my dancing before. If you missed it, you
can read about it<a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2012/01/it-may-be-offensive-but-goddamn-can-i.html" target="_blank"> here</a>. I’m available for back up dancing anytime. Inquire
inside.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But my favourite thing about hip-hop is, hands down, the
lyrics. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The beats are catchy, they’re hypnotic and they’re distracting. That last one was the most important. By
distracting listeners with make-your-hips-move beats, those motherfuckers can
say anything they goddamn want to. They can tell me that they like fluffy pink
slippers and sipping earl grey in their mom’s Jacuzzi, and it’ll sound fucking
badass if it’s accompanied by a dirty beat and some sexy auto-tuned bitch
singing about hundred dollar bills and private jets. And guess what? I’ll eat
it all up with a giant fucking spoon because I love it all so much. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t get me wrong, sometimes the lyrics are hard to miss.
They’re in your face like Christina Aguilara’s tits, and sometimes I’m okay
with that. (The lyrics, not the tits. Ms. Aguilara needs to put those puppies
to bed.) Geniuses, such as the always-sexy
Snoop Dogg, make no apologies for their disgusting, offensive, crude rhymes
that make me want to shield old ladies’ ears.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To say the very least, this dude is not subtle. Here is an
excerpt from one of my latest favourite songs. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Disclaimer</b>: It’s fucking poetry. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-s">Can you be my doctor, can you fix me
up?</span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-s">Can you wipe me down, so I can lick
you up?</span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-s">Make you give it up, give it up 'til
you say my name</span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-shover">Like a jersey, jersey, shittin'
down the game</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="color: black;"><br />
</span><span class="lineline-shover">Make it, make it, make it wet</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-shover">I wanna get you wet</span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-shover">Tell tell me, baby, are you wet?</span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-shover">I just wanna get you wet</span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-s">Wet, wet</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<br /></div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="color: black;">I can’t
be 100% positive, but I’m pretty sure Snoop wants to make someone’s vagina wet.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="color: black;">I might
be misreading this and making some pretty lewd assumptions, but that’s a risk
I’m willing to take.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="color: black;">Oh,
Snoop, you sly dogg, you. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="color: black;">(See what
I did there?) <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="color: black;">The other
great facet of hip-hop lyrics includes what I like to call ‘quick rhymes’.
Awesome rappers do it effortlessly. They rhyme itch, bitch, witch, switch, snitch
and junkwich* like no one’s business and you can’t even question it because
they’re fucking pros. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="color: black;">*Why yes,
junkwich is, indeed, short for ‘junk sandwich’. I’m glad you asked. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="color: black;">This song
by the ever-talented David Guetta (Feat. Taio Cruz) is a great example of this
kind of rhyming brilliance. I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">never</i> would have thought to rhyme
stackin’ with slappin’. I’ll leave it to the professionals. </span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-s">She got my heart jumpin'</span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-s">And my adrenalin pumpin' and gunnin'</span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-s">Like ain't nobody ever seen (seen
seen seen…)</span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-shover">As a matter of fact I've seen
this woman all up in my dreams</span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-shover">Whippin' and flippin' and
stackin' and slappin'</span> </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span class="lineline-shover">I'm attacking after she back it
up and make it DROP (Drop drop drop…)</span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve never seen a woman all
up in your dreams whippin’ and flippin’, but now I’m feeling like I’m missing
out on some pretty valuable life experiences.
To say the least, this is a new life goal. Makin’ mama proud, one dream at a time!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m 90% sure that some of you are probably closeted rappers.
Maybe only when you’re shitfaced, and maybe only when you think no one is home,
but regardless, you rap the shit out of a beat and you drop it like it’s hot. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With this in mind, I’d be interested to know if any of you
have any <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">real </i>rapping abilities. I’d
request a recording and/or video, but I realize that’s probably a lot to ask
and none of you love me enough to do such a grand gesture of awesomness. (Why
yes, I am using guilt to get you to do something. Is it working?) IF you don’t
love me enough for that, but still want to show off some of your skillz, share
some of your rhymes below! I will be forever indebted to you for the joy and
entertainment it will bring me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*<b>Disclaimer</b>: If you wish to leave a comment, it doesn’t have
to rhyme, but, you know, you’d be a lot cooler if it did rhyme. But it’s your
life. These are your choices. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-shover">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-shover">Some of you participated in my
last post’s <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2012/07/sexual-chairs-and-dumb-faces.html" target="_blank">word challenge.</a> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-shover">I want you to know that each and
every one of them made me giggle to myself in public like a drunk schoolgirl. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-shover">One in particular took the cake.
I’m probably biased because it mentioned boobs. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="lineline-shover">Join me in giving a round of
slaps to<b> Méthodique Boisson</b> of<b> <a href="http://scientificfactsijustmadeup.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">Scientific Facts... I just made up</a>!</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="lineline-shover"><b>The winning submission: </b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="color: black;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
"When I think about side-boob, it penetrates my brain
until I want to rub myself so much it almost feels like punishment." </div>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I recommend reading all of the comments, though, because you
guys are flippin’ brilliant. </div>
Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-91340125293693716552012-07-12T12:16:00.001-04:002014-12-11T15:07:24.359-05:00Sexual Chairs and Dumb Faces<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been a very bad blogger.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No, that wasn’t a cue for you to get out your paddle and
punish me for being neglectful and lazy. Ok, maybe it was, but you’re all the
way over on the other side of the internet, so I’ll have to punish myself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(Side note: Dear god, ‘punish’ sounds so sexual. Much like
the words ‘penetrate’ and ‘rub’. I dare you to use all three in a sentence.
GO!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll admit that summer takes away a lot of my normal ‘free
time’ that I spend blogging. (read: I actually get off the couch to go outside
when it’s nice outside, so I’m not on the computer all the goddamn day.) I thank you for putting up with my unreliable
blogging behaviour. If you’re ever in my neck of the woods, tequila shots are
on me. <s>If you show me your boobs.</s> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It will come as no shock to you to hear that I’ve been
steadily shaving years off of my liver.
Toronto Pride happened a couple weekends ago, and I think I heard my
insides crying while I made sweet love to the porcelain gods and I prayed for
sweet salvation. (In other words, I spent a day throwing up street meat and
vodka. It was dreamy. I can tell you’re jealous.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lots has happened in my world as of late, and I thought I’d
make a little list of important mentionables. Think of this as our personal little update huddle
time. No farting please. (Oh god, did I just make a fart joke? I must be
rusty.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h3 class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">10 Things Worth Mentioning (In No Particular Order) </b></h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;">
1)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>Technology
is not indestructible, despite what you may have heard from Arnold
Schwarzenegger. While my Blackberry put up a good fight, it eventually had to accept defeat.
(I dropped my Blackberry off of my balcony on the 24<sup>th</sup> floor.
Suffice it to say, it did not survive the fall. WHADDUP iPhone.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;">
2)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>Eating
almost an entire carrot cake before bed, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">will</b>
make you have crazy dreams about tremendous poops and breakdancing. Not
necessarily in that order.</div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;">
3)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>Instagram
brings out your inner hipster, even if you don’t want it to. It’s like the STI
of apps. You didn’t want to admit you’re a goddamn whore, but the warts are
there, slutpup, so embrace it and move along.</div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;">
4)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>I
spend a lot of time in the sun, but I’m still really pasty with the exception
of my feet. Fact: Tanned feet will bring all the boys to your yard. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;">
5)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>If
you tell a Starbucks barista that your name is Brittany, there is a high likeliness she
will decide you’re better suited to another name.</div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;">
6)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>Channing
Tatum has the dumbest face of all the faces. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;">
7)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>In
related dumb face news: Someone decided that <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2011/08/normal-0-false-false-false.html" target="_blank">Anne Hathaway</a> could sing and pull
off a buzzed head. As far as I’m concerned, it was probably dumb Channing’s
face who made that call. Regardless, she shat all over my <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1707386/" target="_blank">favourite musical of all time</a>. Seriously guys, the world might be over. Stay tuned.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;">
8)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>Shopping
in the USA
is ridiculous. All of the allegations of Target’s almighty power were not even
remotely hyperbolized. I was so tantalized by the deals I may or may not have
purchased a solar-activated waiving Queen. Don’t judge. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;">
9)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>Don’t
tell your dental hygienist you work in investments. You will have to sit there
and hear about her investment decisions and you can’t do a goddamn thing about
it because the bitch has her hands so far in your mouth, she may as well be
filming it to make a profit. In related
news: investments are boring, but dentist chairs are very sexual. Who knew? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;">
10)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>Banana
popsicles were sent to earth by the Gods of Mouthgasms. Now I just need to find a way to add vodka to
them. Please provide suggestions below. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have lots of catching up to do on your wonderful blogs. I
hope that you will remain patient with me and my douchebaggery. I promise to be
much more reliable in the near future. There is just far too much sangria to be
consumed and not nearly enough hours in the day to do so. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A small piece of advice: <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2012/03/yes-i-can-see-your-tampon-string.html" target="_blank">Vodkarade </a>is your friend. Until
it’s not. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
CHEERS!</div>
Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-60384119637161740642012-06-13T19:22:00.000-04:002014-12-11T15:08:07.664-05:00An Open Letter to Hot Sauce<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
You spicy little bitch, you. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see the way you sit there on my shelf, taunting me with
your red glow, beckoning me to pick you up and cradle you in my arms. I see the
way your label warns me that you’re going to burn, and you know what? I don’t
even care. I don’t love you in spite of the pain you cause, I love you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">because</i> of the pain you cause. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You get me. You get inside of me like no one else. (Heh.
Gross)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You play on my food like a drunk skank on the dancefloor. By
which I mean, you’re messy and I like it.
You get all over my fingers (let’s back away from the skank analogy now)
and I’m okay with that, but we have an agreement, remember? Stay the fuck out
of my eyes. I know you’ve stuck your spicy self in there before, and we managed
to get through it, but times were rough for awhile and I didn’t like not being
able to trust you. Please don’t make me
question you again. We have something special.</div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Together, you and I are invincible. The tasteless, grey
world of cheap, shitty food is not of concern to us. We dominate that shit and
make it our bitch. When all is said and done, I can bask in the orgasmic burn
of my stinging tongue, satisfied by a job well done. You kick me from the
inside to remind me you’re still there. Thank you for that. I remember you
fondly when you’re gone. (Mostly. I’ll avoid talking about burning poop. For now.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But you know what, you crazy, firey SOB? There once was a
time when you and I were not friends. I’d look right past you in the fridge; I’d
turn you down at restaurants. I’d walk by your slender, crimson body as I
wondered what was missing from my bland, melancholic pizza. It was you all
along. You were the banana to my peanut butter.
I could tell from your demeanor that you had been waiting for me to grab
you and envelop your spicy, glorious juices with my eager taste buds. And you
know what? I did just that. Oh yes, I fucking did. And you were everything a
person could ever want in their mouth. And you still are. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just stay away from my snatch, k?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
XOXOXO </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Love, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Britt </div>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Tell me, friends, do <i>you</i> like it hot?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-85058681449621676782012-06-08T11:16:00.001-04:002014-12-11T15:09:24.471-05:00I Like Your Necklace, Can You Cook? (Alt title: Everyone is a Slut)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
A little while ago I posted about <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2012/04/its-4am-im-probably-drunk-on-your-porch.html" target="_blank">going through a break-up</a>
and all of the <s>shitfuckery</s> fun that that entailed. I got a lot of lovely
words from readers (read: lots of useful advice on how to drink my problems
away) and it helped a lot (my doctor might disagree). Now that summer is upon us, it’s become clear
to me that I need to push myself to get out there and meet some new
motherfuckers. What’s the best way to
meet people? Online dating sites, of course! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m mostly just looking for more people to drink vodka
slushies with while dodging the cops in shady areas of town… but apparently I’m
supposed to play coy and appear like I have my shit together so that I will be
elusive enough to draw in attention from unsuspecting girls on the
internet. (When I say ‘unsuspecting
girls on the internet’ it really just makes me sound like a predator, doesn’t
it? …Ya, that’s what I thought.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not going to dick you guys around and pretend online
dating is a foreign phenomenon to me. I’ve rode that bicycle before… numerous
times. I’ve met a lot of people off of the World Wide Web, and for the most
part, it’s actually worked out very well (says the single girl.) I’ve made some
great friends and my liver has met many highly capable contenders, but let me
tell you, it takes patience. And by
patience, I mean balls of steel. Allow me to elaborate. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When you online date, you have to brace yourself to feel
like a sack of shit, covered in boogers. In other words: You will take your
time writing out a witty, concise message to someone you think you’d get along
with, take a deep breath and hit ‘send’, and wait for their response. A day
later you will see that they’ve since been online, they’ve looked at your
profile and decided that you aren’t worthy of their time. What the fuck? You complimented them and made
it clear you were just looking for a friendly chat, but they’ve decided you’re
a hideous beast from the depths of their nightmares and you should go fuck
yourself. (Okay, fine, I may be overreacting, but I’m in a vulnerable place,
guys, and these bitches be whack.) Maybe
I should consider adding more bling to my profile pics. I hear women like shiny
things. (Why yes, I am talking about vajazzling.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have only been on the site for about a week and while I’m
already pretty fed up with it, I’m trying to stay positive. I have learned,
however, to steer clear of it after a bottle or two of wine. Trust me when I
say that there is nothing but shame and horror emanating from the computer the following
morning when you browse the ‘sent’ folder of your newly pimped-out profile. You
probably should have reconsidered messaging that girl to tell her she’s “hot as
balls”, or from sending that girl with the boyfriend and kid two ‘e-roses’
alongside an e-card reading “i cuold be yerrrr evreythinging.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Live and learn, right folks? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-67984500390768351752012-06-04T14:16:00.000-04:002014-12-11T15:09:57.944-05:00The Prevention of Shit Bombs<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not homeless, bitches!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’ve moved into our new apartment and so far, it’s fucking
awesome. There is so. much. space. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Keep in mind that my roommate and I had been living in a
glorified cardboard box for the past 2 years, so our concept of space has been
seriously warped. We had a cubicle-sized living room and our hallway had a
kitchen in it. Just the idea of having closets was luxurious. And guess what?
We have a lot of fucking closets now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve danced <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">at least</i>
twice to celebrate having a linen closet. Don’t even get me started on the
broom closet. (No one said I was cool.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As with any move, there will be a whole slew of things to
get used to in the new building; the most notable adjustment will be the
pigeons. In case you were wondering,
spending your Saturday morning hungover, scraping pigeon shit off of a balcony using
a very potent bleach concoction is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i>
as sexy as you might think. In related
news: what the fuck are pigeons eating that causes them to shit so fucking
much? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s clear to us that the previous tenants never used the
balcony. They obviously neglected it all together, leaving the pigeons to host
whatever kind of shit party/feather plucking rave they desire. (Seriously,
there were feathers everywhere… and shards of metal. I’m pretty sure they were
building some sort of shit-bomb. We stomped on their dreams. You’re welcome,
world.) Soon, we’ll be putting up a net to keep the
diseased beasts away, but for now we’ve decided to spend our time yelling at
each one that lands on our balcony. (When I say ‘yelling’, I really mean “yell
until you realize they don’t give a shit how much you yell, so you decide to go
outside and start flailing your limbs around until they get nervous and move to
the edge of the balcony and then you start kicking at them until they move to
the balcony one unit over so they’re far enough so you can’t reach them, but
close enough to mock you with their douchey cooing.”) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remember that time <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2011/11/i-say-potato-you-say-lets-run-world.html" target="_blank">my roommate suggested we could take over the world with pigeons</a>? This may be the first step, guys. Stay tuned. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In other apartment news, I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it,
but we’ve moved to the 24<sup>th</sup> floor. In case you haven’t been paying
attention, that’s fucking high up. I’m
pretty much on top of the world when I sleep. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Being so high up means I have a great vantage point. It’s
too bad I retired from my part-time sniper job, because I probably could have
gotten a lot of work done from home. (Nothing says ‘dream job’ like snipering
(that’s a word) in PJs and a housecoat, am I right, girls!?) Fortunately for me,
I’m fully equipped to entertain myself with the second best thing: people
watching with binoculars. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h3 class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>A little back story</i>: </span></h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before moving to Toronto, I lived alone in a
fifth floor apartment in Montreal.
While the view was measly in comparison to that of our latest home, it felt
incredibly high up after living in a partial basement, and I was very excited
by my newly acquired ability to spy on people. The next time he visited, my dad
came equipped with binoculars for my disposal. To say the least, those bitches
have gotten a lot of action over the years. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before you say it, I’ll be the first to admit I’m a total
creep. I shamelessly watch people and spend a lot of time listening to other
people’s conversations. Naturally, people watching/stalking with binoculars
from the 24<sup>th</sup> floor is exhilarating to me. With endless amounts of targets in sight,
there’s a very real possibility that my sleeping pattern is about to get all
sorts of cray cray. Or I’ll get arrested. One of those. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Who knows, maybe I’ll catch a fellow creep binoculating<span style="font-size: 8pt;">*</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span>on me as
I binoculate on them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yep. How’s that for a sexy sentence to kick off the week? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You’re welcome.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Binoculate/binoculating may or may not be real words.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-40751924437832183052012-05-29T13:05:00.001-04:002012-05-29T13:05:42.226-04:00Sweaty Tits and Heavy Boxes<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Fact</b>: If you make an awkward joke to your gynecologist when
she’s doing her ‘business’, things will get uncomfortable. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Fact</b>: It’s totally worth it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
* </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, it’s hot as balls in Toronto right now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walking around with sweaty tits and impending
pit stains makes a girl feel pretty sexy, if I say so myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing removes panties faster than tit
sweat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t quote me on that. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(Actually, I changed my mind, please do.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are many reasons to curse this heat, but overall it’s pretty awesome. The season of park drinking is upon us and that pretty
much means that life is worth living again!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Nothing says vacation like a bottle of wine (vodka?) on a park bench
surrounded by a bunch of crazy, strung out junkies. (I’m looking at you, Allan Gardens.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously though, fuck all y’all and your
tropical vacation pictures on Facebook. I’m tired of looking at your stupid
face on the stupid white sand beach in your stupid bikini. Befriend a junkie and
lie in the sun in your underwear like the rest of us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since I’ve been bitching and moaning about <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2012/05/for-rent-2-bedroom-skankden.html" target="_blank">moving </a>for far
too long, I figured it was worth throwing in a little bit of an update/you
don’t have a motherfucking choice and you’re going to hear about my move
whether you like it or not. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
:)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Update 1: Uhaul vans smell like corn.<br />
Update 2: We kicked moving’s ass, and made it our bitch. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All of our shit is now sitting in our (soon to be) apartment with a
stranger while I crash at <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2011/08/touch-charles.html" target="_blank">my wonderful friend</a>’s house until Friday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am 89% sure that the stranger will not
steal/break/pee on my stuff. I probably should have put in a special request
for ‘no urine’ when dropping off our shit, but what can I say? I like to live
on the edge a little. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So now I’m covered in tiny bruises and a grimy feeling that
doesn’t seem to want to go away. If I left the house 2 hours earlier this
morning, I probably could have been mistaken as one of the hookers that hang
outside of (endearingly nicknamed) Hooker Harvey’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Yes, I did just compare myself to a
prostitute.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Moving out of the apartment was a little bitter sweet. I
said my silent goodbyes to <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2011/09/meet-keith-he-probably-eats-poop.html" target="_blank">Keith </a>and <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2011/12/hey-roberta-gtfo.html" target="_blank">Roberta </a>and thanked them for imposing
their presence upon me over the past 2 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Without them, I never would have known what a raccoon fetus looks like,
or what it sounds like to have something living in your wall, scratching inches
away from your head at 5am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sorry, I don’t mean to brag. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In honour of Keith, and leaving him behind, I’ve dug up an
old text conversation my <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2011/08/everyone-wants-purple-boa.html" target="_blank">good friend Ivan</a> and I had after one of my Keith
encounters. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you don’t want to lower your IQ, you should consider
skipping this all together. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Raccoon Conversations </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<i>Interpreted and reenacted by Britt & Ivan</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Britt</b>: Do u think, when raccoons
communicate, they ever talk about -or even have the ability to talk about-
things that have occurred in the past? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ivan</b>: Like, 'Hey man! Remember that
pizza crust from last Thursday? IT TASTED LIKE TITTIES.'<br /><br /><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Britt</b>: Yes.<br /><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />Ivan</b>: ... then no.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"></b> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Britt</b>: Example… Keith would be all
"Yesterday this crazy fucking woman yelled at me that it was time to get
up and told me to get my act together."<br /><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />Ivan</b>: "I GOT SKOOLED, YO."<br /><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />Britt</b>: "Oh no way, bro. I got
poked by a child carrying a stick. Pretty annoying."<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />Britt</b>: "Daaaamn dude. That
shit’s one of my pet peeves"<br /><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />Ivan</b>: "You should have seen
this pigeon, homie. She was aaaaall up in ma grillz"<br /><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />Britt</b>: "I hope you fucked that
pigeon up. They play their games. Get all risky and fly all close for no reason."<br /><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />Ivan</b>: "I found me a boob
slingshot. Epic, bro"<br /><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />Britt</b>: "Do you mean a bra?
Like, for boobs?"<br /><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />Ivan</b>: "Dude. Don't ruin this
for me."<br /><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />Britt</b>: "Let's go sling our shit
at other animals. I got beef with a squirrel."<br /><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Britt</b>: "Also: totally ate blue
cheese today by accident. You know that shit makes me allll bloated,
gurl."<br /><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />Ivan</b>: "IMMA CUT THAT BITCH SQUIRREL.
She stole my nuts"<br /><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ivan</b>: (Wink)<br /><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />Britt</b>: Aw hellz nah!</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fin. </div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-67024052345174800282012-05-16T19:37:00.000-04:002014-12-11T15:10:31.784-05:00Craddle the Whiskey: A Fun New Game!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s hump day y’all, so you’d better be humping. And if you’re
not humping, you’d better be thinking about humping and cradling a bottle of
whiskey between your tits to make yourself feel better for having an inadequate
sex life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not going to apologize to you guys (I’m an asshole,
remember, assholes don’t say sorry), but I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">am</i>
going to give you a heads up that my life is fucking crazeballs right now so my ‘free
time’ has been stunted. This means that I’m finding less time to be funny, and
more time to be insane. (On an unrelated note, does anyone have any suggestions
on how to go about burning down a house without it being retraced to me? Just
kidding! (Probably. LOLZ*)) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*For those of you new here, I promise I don’t use LOLZ on a
regular basis. Maybe.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My roommate and I have (I think) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">finally</b> narrowed down an apartment to move into. This means that I’m
in the throes of moving and all of the glory that comes along with it. (Listen,
I know you don’t want to hear about it. Listening to someone talk about moving all the motherfucking time is extremely annoying. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>In
fact, I’m pretty sure that if you were in my general vicinity for even 2 hours
you’d probably try to wrap my telephone chord around my neck and gag me with a
stapler. Okay, fine, maybe that’s my fantasy. Whatever. You get what I'm trying to say.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stapler gags and office sex jokes aside, I should probably
just admit to you that there is no point to this post and you’ve wasted however
many minutes it has taken you to get to this point. (2 minutes? … maybe 10 minutes
if you’re fucking slow and/or have been cradling aforementioned tit whiskey. I'm hoping for the latter.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you need me, I’ll be on the floor in my rubber gloves. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-32695067384286950462012-05-02T13:59:00.000-04:002012-05-02T14:14:35.771-04:00I Hope You Like the Taste of Slaps<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m going to be honest with you guys, there is a lot of shit
that pisses me off. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You can pretend to be surprised by that statement, but I’ll
know you’re just being polite- and quite frankly, if you’re the ‘polite’ type,
I’m not sure we’d get along. You should just call me a crazy bitch like the
rest of ‘em so we can move forward and develop a normal relationship. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Good. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What was I saying? Oh right, a lot of shit pisses me off. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t think I’d classify myself as an ‘irrationally angry’
person. Generally speaking, my anger is entirely rational and it spawns from
other people’s ignorance and general douchebaggery. If you’re going to parade
around like you’re the motherfucking king of Asshole Castle,
then chances are I’m going to want to slap you. Really fucking hard. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I decided to make a list. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2 class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">People I Want to Slap Really Fucking Hard</span></b></span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<ul>
<li><h3>
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: large;"><b>People who don't know how to walk</b></span></h3>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
A word to those of you who decide
to randomly stop walking to check your phone/pick your ass, if I’m behind you
when you stop, you might wake up with a new hole. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<ul>
<li><h3>
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: large;"><b>Loud cellphone talkers</b></span></h3>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
Seriously. Shut the fuck up. No
body wants to hear about Becky’s questionable decisions and your inability to
hold down tequila. You’re just as slutty as Becky and you know it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<ul>
<li><h3>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #674ea7;">People who let their kids run amuck in public washrooms</span></span></h3>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
Your 4 year old can’t be trusted
not to piss on everything. Keep that thing on a leash. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<ul>
<li><h3>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #674ea7;">Girls who relentlessly look at themselves in the reflection of windows they're walking by</span></span></h3>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
Let me make this easy for you: You look like a
bedazzled asshat. With a cameltoe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<ul>
<li><h3>
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: large;"><b>My Landlord</b></span></h3>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
To put it lightly, this man
deserves a hot iron to the testicles. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<ul>
<li><h3>
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: large;"><b>Guys who are constantly 'adjusting' themselves</b></span></h3>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
Everyone knows you have a penis.
Congratulations! Chances are if you need to touch your junk that much, you
should probably get that checked out. Or you need to lay off the G-Strings. One
of those.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<ul>
<li><h3>
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: large;">People who drink light beer</span></h3>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
Fuck you. Drink better beer,
pussy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<ul>
<li><h3>
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: large;"><b>People who always try to top your story</b></span></h3>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
Listen, I understand that
something sort of, kind of, not really at all similar happened to you once, but
I don’t want to hear about it and quite frankly, you’re about to learn what my
foot tastes like. I hope you’re hungry.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<ul>
<li><h3>
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: large;"><b>People who breathe really loudly at the gym</b></span></h3>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
Seriously, broseph, are you giving
birth? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<ul>
<li><h3>
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: large;"><b>People who wear UGGs</b></span></h3>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
You’re wearing boots named after
the abbreviation of the word ‘ugly’. It is no coincidence that they’re
motherfucking ugly. People really will
buy anything, won’t they? Maybe I should start a purse line named “VAG”. (You can
bet your ass they’d all be made with a soft, pink lining.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<ul>
<li><h3>
<b style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="font-size: large;">Elderly people who chew really loudly</span></b></h3>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
Just kidding. I’d never hit an old
person. Probably. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<ul>
<li><h3>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #674ea7;">The guy that never toasts my bread correctly at the sandwich place where I get my breakfast</span></span></h3>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
Who the fuck likes burnt toast?
Probably your mother. I hope you like the taste of slaps.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I know you guys will have some good ones, so let me hear ‘em. What makes <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> want to shove your fist through
someone’s face? (Now <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">there’s</i> a sexy
mental image!) </div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-57297289770950783292012-04-18T19:25:00.001-04:002012-04-18T23:26:55.774-04:00It's 4am, I'm Probably Drunk on Your Porch.<div class="MsoNormal">Breakups are fucking stupid. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sure, it’s nice to have an excuse to be a snotty, puffy-faced, teary disaster for awhile, but overall, I’d say the whole breakup process is pretty fucking douchey. I’m not going to say that I wanted to use my guitar strings to slit open my wrists while wheezing out the painful, melodic tunes of Melissa Etheridge… but something a little less bloody, butequally as humiliating has most definitely crossed my mind. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For the purpose of this entry, I decided to browse the internet for helpful ‘tips’ on how to get over the person you broke up with. This is going to come as a pretty big shock, but everything I found was fucking stupid.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;">In my search, I stumbled on this helpful picture:</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NanFHpAzxbA/T49FdTbW4FI/AAAAAAAAAXI/oHd-eYl3Lm8/s1600/500px-Get-Over-a-Break-Up-Step-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NanFHpAzxbA/T49FdTbW4FI/AAAAAAAAAXI/oHd-eYl3Lm8/s320/500px-Get-Over-a-Break-Up-Step-13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">This image was paired with the motivational message “Let go of your negative emotions!” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ummmmm…..</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This guy isn’t letting go of anything. He’s giving a thumbs up <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">while</i> holding a shirt that says “Negative Emotions.” If you ask me, it looks more like this giant douchecanoe is excited by his recent acquisition of a shitty t-shirt promoting an even shittier emo band. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Also: The 90s are over, dudebro. Smiley face t-shirts are out. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">...Oh, and this guy is <i>most definitely</i> about to kill those birds. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2aleSM3QfYU/T49G1bOewZI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/PYum7LYgvP8/s1600/550px-Get-Over-a-Break-Up-Step-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2aleSM3QfYU/T49G1bOewZI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/PYum7LYgvP8/s320/550px-Get-Over-a-Break-Up-Step-4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dealing with a break up? Go kill some motherfucking birds!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One particularly helpful article suggested that I call <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all</i> of my friends and force them to hang out with me. They encouraged calling <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">everyone</b>, including the people I haven’t spoken to in ages. Apparently, if you’re a disgusting, emotional disaster, everyone has to understand because you’re in a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘time of need’.</i> </div><div class="MsoNormal">They also suggested I look at all of my old photos to make myself cry like a motherfucking suicidal banshee. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The article assured me that my friends will still love me, though. I mean, who doesn’t love an anxious, wheezing bag of hysteria showing up at their door at 4 am? </div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"> </span> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I think I might test out their theory. </div><div class="MsoNormal">WHADDUP former elementary school friends. Shit’s about to get real. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">*</div><div class="MsoNormal">As a side note, midway through this article, a helpful advertisement let me know that there are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nine</i> magic words that would make my man <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">addicted</i> to me. (That’s the dream, right?) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pv83bn8TBf8/T49H8qFI10I/AAAAAAAAAXY/NoVmZ2bB0rQ/s1600/link.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="128" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pv83bn8TBf8/T49H8qFI10I/AAAAAAAAAXY/NoVmZ2bB0rQ/s400/link.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">While I didn’t actually click on the link, I’m going to guess what those 9 words are: </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">1-<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Anal</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">2-<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Threesome</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">3-<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Boob-job </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">4-<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Blowjob</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">5-<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Anal</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">6-<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Letmemakeyouasandwich</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">7-<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Brazilian</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">8-<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Anal</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">9-<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Idon’twantkids</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Listen. I realize that list is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hardly</i> fair to men and I’m being rudely presumptuous in thinking this magical list of keywords will keep a man<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> addicted</i> to his woman, but bitch, please. Y’all know you’d be excited if your woman said she’d make you a sammie while you screw her in the pooper. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">How sexy was that sentence? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yep. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Moving along. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I also stumbled on this picture, displaying the utter sadness that one feels when their heart is shattered into a million pieces. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B-XWl7yYoN0/T49IQjwJe3I/AAAAAAAAAXg/kg1veGzXeos/s1600/break-up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B-XWl7yYoN0/T49IQjwJe3I/AAAAAAAAAXg/kg1veGzXeos/s1600/break-up.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">You guys. </div><div class="MsoNormal">This bitch is sad. </div><div class="MsoNormal">She’s so sad she’s using an umbrella <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">when it’s sunny out.</i> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Her sadness is so powerful she can’t even handle the sun. Except on the bottom half of her face… that part of her face is not so sad. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Oh, and the best thing about this article? It was linked to an even more helpful article called ‘How to Deal with a Broken Rib.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m going to leave the domestic abuse jokes aside. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For now. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">*</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It's most <i>definitely</i> time for a drink. Or 12. </div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-36662417940984585702012-04-11T11:03:00.001-04:002012-04-11T15:35:34.114-04:00Sexier Than a Drunk ChimpanzeeEveryone envies someone, for something, sometimes.<br />
<br />
If you pretend for a second that you don’t envy <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anyone, ever,</i> then I’m going to recommended you get the fuck out of here and go look in a mirror for a few minutes until you can accept that you’re not a real human and your life is probably a pretty big joke. I’ll wait for you to come back. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">…. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Back? Okay good. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now that you’ve come to terms with all of the people you envy <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all the fucking time</i>, we can get down to business. While I don’t believe that envying is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">productive</i>, I do believe it’s inevitable and ‘normal’. And shut the fuck up if you’re thinking of lecturing me on the use of the term ‘normal’. I don’t give a circlejerkingmonkeyfuck if it’s not PC to say “normal”. I do what I want.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now that I got <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> off my chest, let me tell you about some of the things I wish I could do. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some might say I “dream big.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">I Wish I Could Draw/Paint</span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t think people with drawing ability appreciate it enough. Sure, I can draw <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2011/12/hey-roberta-gtfo.html" target="_blank">ridiculously awesome pictures of squirrels using MicrosoftPaint</a>, but that took me more time than I’d care to admit, and quite frankly, these basic abilities aren’t enough. If I could draw, I’d draw <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">constantly</i>. I’d sketch everything, all the time, and everyone would fucking love it, OK? I’d drawn to explain myself, I’d draw myself punching the assholes on the subway, and I’d draw what I’d do to your face if you fucking shush me. I’d spend a lot of time illustrating my feelings. </div><div class="MsoNormal">For example: If I was hungry (yes, that’s a feeling, shut up), I’d sketch myself eating a giant burrito. I’d be sure to include some helpful arrows, pointing out the different components of the sketch so that people could look at the image and know exactly what the fuck was being shoved in my piehole. I would point out the burrito sauce dripping off my chin and the lone jalapeño that tumbled onto my shirt, celebrating its escape from my angry, chomping teeth.* Oh, what a glorious life I would live. With my current amateur drawing abilities, there is just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">no way</i> I could ever successfully draw burrito sauce dripping down my chin without it looking like I’m eating a jizz sandwich. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Damn you incapable, non-artist hands. My dreams=shattered. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">*I’d just like to note that if I’m ever eating and a jalapeño falls onto my shirt, I eat the shit out of it. No jalapeño left behind! </div></blockquote><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">I Wish I Could Dive</span></b></span><span style="color: #674ea7;"> </span></div></blockquote><blockquote class="tr_bq"><div class="MsoNormal">That’s right guys, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dive</i>. I’m talking about the diving that occurs off of a diving board at the end of a (probably) public pool. Easy, you say? Believe me when I say that I’ve tried. Believe me <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">even more </i>when I say that I’ve failed. Relentlessly. </div><div class="MsoNormal">As an adult, I don’t really swim. It’s not a ‘hobby’ or even really something I enjoy doing, but I’ll admit that sometimes I wonder if all of that would change, if only I could dive like a motherfucking mermaid. I’ll tell you this much: I can do that Ariel hair-flip move like no one’s fucking business. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></blockquote><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq"><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">I Wish I Could Speak Spanish </span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Everything sounds sexy in Spanish. If I could be a Spanish speaking mermaid diver, I’m pretty sure I could rule the world. With sexiness. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-variant: small-caps;"></span></b></span></div></blockquote><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq"><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">I Wish I Could Punch Christina Aguilera </span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>To my knowledge, I don’t have anyone in particular to be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">envious</i> of for this one, per say, but I think it should be known that I’d really like to punch her in the face. And in the left boob. Why not the right boob? Because I don’t fucking know. The left one just looks like a giant asshole... Figuratively speaking. </blockquote><blockquote class="tr_bq"><div class="MsoNormal">Watch your back, Christina. And your face. And your boob. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div> </blockquote><blockquote class="tr_bq"><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">I Wish I Could Walk in High Heels </span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Ever wonder what a drunk chimpanzee looks like in high heels? Well look no further! I’m your girl! (... minus a lot of the body hair and feces slinging. Probably.) </blockquote><blockquote class="tr_bq"><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">The deceiving thing about heels is that for the first 2 minutes I wear them, I feel like a motherfucking diva. I walk around like I could school Tyra Banks and my farts are made of glitter. But once those 2 minutes are over, it becomes <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">painfully</i> clear to me that Satan himself made my shoes and has plotted out my downfall in the form of numb toes, burning arches and throbbing ankles. To the women (and men) strutting your stuff around in your fancy high heeled boots/shoes, I just want you to know that I <s>want to be</s> hate you. I hope your heel gets stuck in a subway grate, bitch. </div></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While I realize it’s a waste of time to long for the unattainable, sometimes it’s impossible not to. So, if you see me staring at you from across the street, or glaring at you on the subway, it’s probably because I want something you’re wearing, wish I could do something you’re doing, or I hate your fucking face and you need to learn how to shut your mouth before I come and shove my unheeled boot in it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Either way, you're going to get slapped. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Or should I say... <span class="hps"><span lang="ES" style="color: #333333;">De cualquier manera,</span></span><span class="shorttext"><span lang="ES" style="color: #333333;"> </span></span><span class="hps"><span lang="ES" style="color: #333333;">te vas a</span></span><span class="shorttext"><span lang="ES" style="color: #333333;"> </span></span><span class="hps"><span lang="ES" style="color: #333333;">una bofetada.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="hps"><span lang="ES" style="color: #333333;">Sexy. </span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="hps"><span lang="ES" style="color: #333333;"><b>UPDATE!!! </b></span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="hps"><span lang="ES" style="color: #333333;">When I started this blog, I decided to post my updates on Facebook so my friends could find out how truly <strike>annoying </strike>funny I am. </span></span><br />
<span class="hps"><span lang="ES" style="color: #333333;">BOY, am I glad I did! </span></span><br />
<span class="hps"><span lang="ES" style="color: #333333;">Today, the wonderful <a href="http://madisonconlin.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Madison Conlin </a>surprised me with my very own portrait. Eating a burrito. </span></span><br />
<span class="hps"><span lang="ES" style="color: #333333;">And from the looks of it, that burrito is motherfucking hilarious. </span></span><br />
<span class="hps"><span lang="ES" style="color: #333333;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZTk5CxNpzCg/T4XcZ3Q6HjI/AAAAAAAAAXA/ZlfJd1jCdP4/s1600/burrito.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZTk5CxNpzCg/T4XcZ3Q6HjI/AAAAAAAAAXA/ZlfJd1jCdP4/s400/burrito.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My hands aren't that small, that burrito is just MONSTROUS. The way I like 'em.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="hps"><span lang="ES" style="color: #333333;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="hps"><span lang="ES" style="color: #333333;"><b> </b> </span></span></div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-85431119586463253582012-04-03T14:11:00.000-04:002012-04-03T14:11:12.523-04:00Get Out of My House! (Oh F*ck, You Live Here, Too)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
They’re in your home, they get into your shit, they leave a
mess, and they bring you shame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ah yes, roommates. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At one point or another, most of us have found ourselves
living in close quarters with a stranger, acquaintance, close friend and/or
significant other. For the sake of this post, I’m going to skip over
‘significant others’ all together, because that’s a totally different category
of ‘communal living’ and I don’t have the time or energy to delve into that
shitstorm of emotional carnage. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(Dear current roomie, I’d like to assure you that this post
is not even at all about you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For those
of you unfamiliar with her, you can read <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2011/07/contagious-like-vd.html" target="_blank">this</a>, <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2011/09/dont-go-on-roof.html" target="_blank">this </a>or <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2011/11/i-say-potato-you-say-lets-run-world.html" target="_blank">this</a>. Huzzah.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where were we?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh
right, the phenomenon of cohabitation. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the years, I’ve had my share of roommates, which
inevitably means I’ve had my fair share of ‘interesting’ living
conditions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why yes, that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">does</i> mean I spent the better part of 6
months locked in my room, praying not to get stabbed in the face. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How did you know? </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As much fun as that was, let’s move right along…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve noticed that living with roommates as a ‘young
professional’ is quite different than it was when I was a student.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a student, I was constantly seeking
distractions, eating my weight in late-night snacks and guzzling energy drinks
like I imagine Paula Deen guzzles butter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a young professional, I drink
a lot fewer energy drinks. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t mean to brag about all of my personal growth. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite the leaps and bounds I’ve clearly made towards
growing into a fully functioning adult, it’s important to note that I still
have some pretty big set backs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless
to say, living in an enclosed environment with another individual will
inevitably bring out some of your pre-existing personal ‘issues’, but it will
also help develop some new ones! For example, you may not know it yet, but you
might <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really </i>hate the smell of garlic
in your bathroom the morning after your roommate decided to try a new ‘acne
fighting remedy’ she learned about at the bar the night before. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or perhaps you will learn that there is no
fouler smell in the world than rotting ‘mixed bean’ salad. The exciting options
are endless, really. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While they say you can’t teach old dogs new tricks, I assure
you that you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">can</i> teach people new pet
peeves until the day they die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keeping
with this ‘old dog’ idea, let’s talk about how roommates are sort of like pets.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span>1)<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></b><b>They shed. </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
I am <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hugely </i>guilty of this, in case you failed to <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2012/03/letter-to-my-13-year-old-self.html" target="_blank">pay attention</a>, I’ve
got a shit-ton of curly hair and it makes a habit of forming little spider-like
balls that nestle in a corner until they have decided you’re bored and want to
scare the fuck out of you. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re
welcome, roomies! But I’m not alone. You wouldn’t believe how much foreign,
long hair I find on my clothes on the regular. It’s alarming at times, but
mostly I’ve been trying to figure out a way to capitalize on it. Human hair
scarves, anyone? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span>2)<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></b><b>If you leave
food out, they’ll eat it. </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
This may not apply to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">every</i> roommate, but it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">definitely</i> applies if your roommate is a
stoner and/or alcoholic. Personally, when I’m wasted, I feel like I could eat
the world, and on some occasions I think I’ve come pretty fucking close… <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
You may also wake up in the
morning to find food all over the kitchen floor, in a puddle, with the fridge
door wide open. But guess what? They also left the front door wide open, so in
comparison, what’s a little rotting food? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span>3)<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></b><b>You might
find them sleeping in your bed.<span> </span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
Again, this probably only applies
if your roommate has a heavy drinking problem, but who doesn’t these days? Additionally, you may
be fortunate enough to come home to them passed out topless, wrapped up in
your sheets like a skanky burrito. Keep your fingers crossed you came home
before it turned into a Urine Fiesta on your new duvet. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you’re really lucky, you may also have to: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Clean up their puke.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Stop them from humping guests. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- Strip them down, stand them in the shower and hose them
down with hot water to keep them from getting hypothermia after faceplanting in
the snow. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I guess I’m just a pretty fucking lucky person. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When it comes down to it, roommates can be a fucking blast,
or a motherfucking nightmare, and it’s impossible to know how the cookie will
crumble until you’re in the throes of a hot oil fight, holding scissors to
their face and threatening to call their parents to rat them out for their
growing drug dependency.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Either way, cheaper rent!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-72690844533582170622012-03-29T12:26:00.000-04:002012-03-29T12:42:49.961-04:00Your Pictures Are Stupid; I Can't Look Away<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In today’s day of social media sites, there is one megabeast
that has made everyone its bitch. Yes, my friends, I’m talking about Facebook.
This ‘social’ media tool has allowed for me to know when my friends are grocery
shopping, if they’re still friends with that bitch from high school and how
often they poop. While we all have a handful of friends who ‘won’t join
Facebook out of principle’, I’ve decoded their reasoning to mean one of the
following three things: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">
1)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>“I’m
worried I will look like a loser because I don’t have enough friends.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">
2)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>“I
don’t understand social media websites.”
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">
3)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span>“I
go out on a lot of heavy drug and drinking benders and don’t have the time or
energy to untag myself from photos on a regular basis.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whatever the reason may be, let’s just be clear about one
thing: If you don’t have Facebook, you’re not getting invited to parties. If you’re part of reason #3 for not joining
Facebook, you’re probably doing yourself and your future rehab bill a favour. Jussayin’.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like so many of you, I fucking hate Facebook. By this, I
mean: I can’t stop fucking checking it.
I hate that I care what you did last night; I don’t know why, but I hate
your face; if you post one more political status, I’m fucking deleting you and your
pictures of your stupid bachelorette party make me want to stab myself in the shoulder/WHY
WASN’T I INVITED!? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whatever your relationship might be with this mind-numbing
site, we all have different categories of people in our friends list. Some of
them you care about, and others… well, you find yourself wishing them a firey
death on a regular basis. I know what you’re thinking, but unfriending would
just be too easy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve broken these people into 6 categories. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<h2 class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Significant Other</b></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are a few things to consider when communicating with
your shmoopy on Facebook: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First of all, do you have any shame? No? Then go ahead and
post all of your disgusting love-filled messages all over their wall and let us
judge you while we eat spicy peanuts in bed. If you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do
</i>have shame, keep in mind that with every cheesy message you write, it
becomes increasingly challenging to think of you as an equal. (Sidenote: I know
90% of people with smartphones use them while they’re on the toilet. Don’t
pretend you don’t. With that in mind, when I see horrifically sappy Facebook
posts, I like to think of the author of said post sitting on the john while
they profess their love. Take this wisdom with you, folks. Life just got a
little brighter.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Secondly, how many pictures have you posted of you and your
poopybear kissing? If there is more than 1, that’s too many and you deserve a
good swift chair to the face. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lastly, if you’re the kind of person that updates your
relationship status on Facebook, then please, for the love of god, only change
it once you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">know</i> you’ve broken up
and/or started dating someone for realsies.
Keeping with this theme, I’d also like for you to keep your emotional
status updates to yourself. I don’t give a flying fuck if you’re quoting some
song you heard that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">touched your inner
being</i>; you sound like a whiny twelve year-old and I’ll assume you spend a
good portion of your time crying and watching Twilight. Guess what? We’re not
friends anymore. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2 class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Good Friends</b></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a perfect world, my Facebook friends list would be
compiled solely of my good, dear friends. These are the people I care about,
and they post shit I want to read. I can tease them to their face about the
dumb shit they write about, and we can bask together in our shame every weekend
when the photos of our latest drinking binge surface. It’s not a perfect world,
though, and Sue from accounting is going to add you as a friend, and you can’t
do fucking shit about it. This brings me to my next category. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2 class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Coworkers</b></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Way to rain on my fucking parade, colleagues. Now I have to
create a whole new limited profile for you, so you can’t know about the sex
shows I attend and all of the blow I did last night. When I call in sick on
Monday, you’re going to rat me out and I’m going to have to stab you in the
bathroom. If you had just minded your own business and kept your friend request
to yourself, we wouldn’t be standing here in a puddle of blood, hashing it out
Freddy-style.*</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*Not exactly an accurate depiction of real life. Dramatics
added for color. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2 class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Former Friends </b></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These are probably the people I spend the most time
stalking. You know those nights when you end up looking at someone’s wedding
photos where you don’t know a single attendee, but you find yourself judging
the décor and thinking that these people are fucking lame? Ya. We’re never getting that time back, guys.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seriously, though, stalking former friends can result in you
missing them, hating them and/or envying them. Sometimes, all three emotions
can occur when browsing through a single photo album, and you find yourself
lingering over the ‘like’ button and wondering if it would be weird, nice, or
creepy to click it. It’s probably creepy, since the album was from 2008, but go
ahead a click it. Stir the pot a little.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2 class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Acquaintances </b></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These are the people you contact once a year because
Facebook told you it’s their birthday.
You should probably delete them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2 class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Family Members </b></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your relationship with your family will really affect how
you perceive this category. If your family members are your BFFs, then
la-dee-fucking-da, keep everything public and embrace your Honesty is the Best
Policy way of life. For the rest of us,
yet another limited profile is created, double checked, triple checked, and checked
again on a regular basis every time Facebook goes and changes their
motherfucking privacy settings. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are, of course, members of my family who have an
all-access pass, namely my sister, who probably wishes she didn’t sometimes…
but as for the aunts and uncles who saw me play baby Jesus during our
reenactment of the nativity scene once upon a Christmas, it’s probably best to
keep them at a distance. </div>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve contemplating deleting my Facebook dozens of times, but
who are we kidding? That’s the cyber version of social banishment and I’m not
ready to become a pariah just yet. When I’m alone with my 14 cats, living an
envy-filled life spent observing the trips, parties and excursions of
friends-gone-by, I’ll reevaluate. But for now, I’ll continue to judge you from
the comfort of my peanut-filled bed.<br />
<br />
<br />
****<br />
<br />
OH! And I thought I should share with you the cookies that I made for my birthday/St. Patrick's day.<br />
I thought of you guys with every polka dot I dropped on those godforsaken clovers. (If you remember... <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2012/01/dont-dip-your-junk-in-chocolate.html" target="_blank">this was supposed to be a baking blog</a>, but I'm far too vulgar.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TIGSGlKHzso/T3SP8MzWnlI/AAAAAAAAAVw/UKqc4Kc5XYA/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TIGSGlKHzso/T3SP8MzWnlI/AAAAAAAAAVw/UKqc4Kc5XYA/s400/2.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<br /></div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-18256545286527570292012-03-23T19:43:00.000-04:002012-03-23T19:43:59.463-04:00A Letter to My 13 Year-Old Self<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<h3><i>Dear thirteen year-old Britt, </i></h3><h3><i> </i></h3><div class="MsoNormal">It’s been awhile since I’ve thought of you, but there are some things we should establish, since you’re in the throes of awkwardness and I thought you could maybe use a little light at the end of your pubescent tunnel. (No, that wasn’t a euphemism for vagina.) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Firstly, I’m pleased to announce that you finally figured out how to deal with your hair. I know it seemed like the undefeatable beast for most of your youth, but we pushed through and guess what? Afro Thunder is no longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Don’t ask your present-day girlfriend, though. She’s seen you in the morning and you and I both know that’s when it’s at its finest state of ‘fro.) Oh ya, I guess I should also mention that you’re gay now. I know you wondered a little bit back then, but I can assure you that your five year fixation on Pat Waller was merely a schoolyard crush, and you are, without a doubt, a gaymo. Also, we don’t call people ‘gaymo’ anymore. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Secondly, I would like to congratulate you on growing out of your awkward, crooked, small, yellow teeth. It’s a miracle, really. For awhile there, things were looking pretty bleak for your not-so-pearly whites. I’m 93% sure the tooth fairy took a shining to you after you pulled your own teeth out on a regular basis, allowing her to prosper in her newfound, tooth-filled richness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She did you a solid and let your teeth grow in nice and straight and not-so yellow. One of these days, I’ll start flossing regularly. Probably. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Remember that time when you got caught skipping school and shoplifting on the same day? That was a fucking awful day, wasn’t it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know what was even more awful? The outfit you chose to wear that day. I remember it clearly. You sported crushed velvet pants, that old purple and turquoise puffy jacket with floral lining… and the best possible sweatshirt of all time. Don’t look down in shame. That shit was legendary. I wish I still had that sweatshirt. It was (probably) from Northern Reflections, with little drawings of birds on it. Under each bird was a clever little name for the bird. That shit was pimp. The only thing that would have made it better would have been this vest: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_2GPmk30HMs/T20ImsH_s2I/AAAAAAAAAVk/9T04WyvBWyU/s1600/vest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_2GPmk30HMs/T20ImsH_s2I/AAAAAAAAAVk/9T04WyvBWyU/s320/vest.jpg" width="264" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The security guards didn’t see you coming. In fact, I can even remember one of them saying “You don’t look like the type to shoplift…” That asshole had no idea who he was messing with. That $4.99 lipgloss should have been YOURS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">The good news? We never <s>got caught stealing</s> stole again. Clean criminal record FTW! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You’ve also successfully avoided breaking any more bones. After the embarrassing stint when you <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.ca/2012/02/eat-that-beaver.html" target="_blank">broke your wrist doing a Backstreet Boys dance</a>, you learned your lesson. You still continued to play the trumpet for two or three more years, but eventually learned that the guitar was a lot cooler. Ask any lesbian and they’ll tell you that singing and playing the guitar guarantees 75% more titties than the trumpet. Fact. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Without getting into great detail, there are a few more things I’d like for you to know.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>#1 </b></span>When you’re older, coming up with your own choreographed dances becomes much less ‘cool’. Also, your parents probably won’t come watch you do them in the attic anymore. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>#2</b></span> Don’t shave your eyebrows. Ever. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>#3 </b></span>Glitter is best used in moderation. (With the exception of extra-gay events an/or Ke$ha concerts)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>#4</b></span> Plaid pajama bottoms are not to be worn in public. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>#5</b></span> Alcohol <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">does</i> get better the more you drink. Keep at it. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>#6</b></span> If everyone hates the girl in your class for being a mean, angry bully, don’t try to befriend her and change her. This rarely works out and her newly-out-of-jail brother <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">will</i> come find you in the school yard to tell you you’re an ugly hoe.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>#7</b></span> Locking yourself in the basement bathroom rarely accomplishes anything. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>#8</b></span> When a boy punches you, it doesn’t mean he likes you. (WHADDUP Rihanna. Take some notes.) </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>#9 </b></span>Things got much, much worse for Britney Spears. (But we love her anyway because she’s a sticky, hot mess.) </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>#10</b></span> Oh, and the world didn’t blow up with Y2K. What a fucking letdown. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One last thing before I let you go. I found your diary. You know the one I’m talking about. Quite frankly, I’m a little disappointed by the lack of juicy details. You mostly just sound like a boy-crazy kid with severe ADD. It was pretty hard to follow what the fuck you were trying to say. I think you misunderstood the concept of poetry. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I did, however, notice that you signed your name at the bottom of every entry and sometimes wrote a little secret or factoid that future-you would find interesting. I couldn’t help but notice you wrote: </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-left: 0.5in; text-align: center;"><i>My dream: To become a famous singer. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well, I’m here today to tell you that you failed. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Keep up the good work. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Love, </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Britt </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">P.S. You’re going to get 50% in math this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Get ready for the parental wrath. </div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-56686851539305099822012-03-20T19:51:00.002-04:002012-03-20T23:34:01.053-04:00Yes, I Can See Your Tampon String.<div class="MsoNormal">It’s getting hot outside and all I can say is: <span style="font-size: large;">Fina-fucking-lly</span>. </div><div class="MsoNormal">My pasty skin is tired of being layered up and suffocated by itchy material that regularly convinces me I’ve got flesh eating disease and/or bedbugs.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Bring on the sunburns, motherfuckaaaah. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While I am most definitely celebrating the recent warm weather shift, I’m going to have to take a minute to be a hypocrite. Stay with me, guys. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This past winter was the fucking tits. Why? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">a)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>I didn’t slip and fall once. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">b)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>It never got too cold for me to stop sleeping in my underwear. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Those are my criteria for determining the ‘titliness’ of a winter. I’m sure there are other (smaller) factors to take into consideration, but who the hell has time for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">smaller</i> things. AM I RIGHT, Girls!? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While I can recognize that there were some pretty unpleasant days that made my face burn like a prostitute’s urethra, I feel like I need to remind people that it’s March. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">March,</i> guys. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We didn’t even get snow in Toronto until January. That’s 2 months of marginally uncomfortable weather. So, congratulations to those of you who invested a small fortune in your douchey Canada Goose jackets. I’ve been meaning to tell you that you look like Queen of the Asshats when you’re sweating up a storm on the subway because you don’t know how to dress yourself appropriately. I’m willing to bet you’re the same classy skankasaurus who chooses to bare your droopy asscheeks in 15 degree weather, hoping no one will notice the tampon string or the fact that they’re three sizes too small. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Believe me. We notice. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Having said that, I’m pretty fucking happy that it’s warm outside because it makes me feel less dead inside. There are a lot of reasons for this exaltation, but I’m going to let you guess what the MAIN one is…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">….</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Are you guessing right now?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">….</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Guess or I’ll cut you…</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ok, fine. I’ll tell you.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s booze. More specifically: daytime boozing. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There is nothing more enjoyable, and downright awesome than drinking under the warm glow of the sun. Soaking in the cancer and giving myself early onset liver failure is what life is all about. And I’ll be honest with you guys. During the colder months, I spend several hours a week perusing my summertime photo albums on Facebook. I don’t care if you think it’s pathetic. Your mom is pathetic. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Last summer I discovered the beauty of Gatorade & Vodka (Vodkarade… or Gatorka, for you awkward types). I’m pretty certain it’s Jesus’ gift to mankind… but don’t quote me on that… I hear Jesus gets pretty pissed when he finds out people are wrongfully saying he invented cocktails.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What have we learned today? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">1)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>The world is full of giant douchewranglers.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">2)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>The season of butt cleavage is upon us.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">3)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>‘Summer’ is just a glorified term for ‘alcoholism’. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">4)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>And most importantly, Jesus makes wicked cocktails. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">This week’s assignment:</b> Use the term ‘titliness’ in a sentence at least three times. <br />
<br />
***<br />
Update!<br />
<br />
It is with great pleasure that I accompany this post with a wonderful image.<br />
Thank you to <a href="http://www.jenniferhladkowicz.com/" target="_blank">Jen Hladkowicz</a>, who helped dream up this masterpiece.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p3e-4AXfqKI/T2lLv-1y9LI/AAAAAAAAAVc/GZG5hbcAaOQ/s1600/540231_10100171688348186_121503052_45928734_157773230_n-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p3e-4AXfqKI/T2lLv-1y9LI/AAAAAAAAAVc/GZG5hbcAaOQ/s640/540231_10100171688348186_121503052_45928734_157773230_n-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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</div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-70134195620775541052012-03-14T12:53:00.000-04:002012-03-14T12:53:39.325-04:00You'd Better Be Drinking<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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Saturday is my birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> <div class="MsoNormal">If you’ve been paying attention, it’s also St. Patrick’s Day. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That’s right, ladies and gents! Yours truly was born on the International Day of Drinking. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Surprised? </div><div class="MsoNormal">Me neither. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I love St. Patrick’s Day so much that it’s a shock that I don’t shit clovers. (Apparently that’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> how the digestive system works. Who knew?) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the spirit of the upcoming Day of Debauchery, I’ve come up with some T-Shirt ideas that would tickle my blarney stone if I saw them around town on St. Patrick’s Day. (Maybe not if there are children around… or elderly people. Oh, who are we kidding, elderly people love fart jokes and anal sex.) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Introducing:</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> Britt’s St. Paddy’s Day Tees </b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JPGDHcK-eOc/T2DGYnpfXzI/AAAAAAAAAVU/KPcJ4k5ytac/s1600/4-leaf-clover-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BbHamqTVKJk/T2DFAktkBZI/AAAAAAAAAU8/ECDnfYQs4Cs/s1600/SHAMROCK+YOUR+CLOVER.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BbHamqTVKJk/T2DFAktkBZI/AAAAAAAAAU8/ECDnfYQs4Cs/s1600/SHAMROCK+YOUR+CLOVER.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z8bvalBZMMw/T2DFAH3RZnI/AAAAAAAAAUs/mrOLEUcHEeo/s1600/POCKET.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z8bvalBZMMw/T2DFAH3RZnI/AAAAAAAAAUs/mrOLEUcHEeo/s1600/POCKET.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3st3eXlRRDE/T2DE9mglQyI/AAAAAAAAAUc/XqcrLp6rzGk/s1600/GAS.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3st3eXlRRDE/T2DE9mglQyI/AAAAAAAAAUc/XqcrLp6rzGk/s1600/GAS.JPG" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p_aZIkvKOaI/T2DE97nb_aI/AAAAAAAAAUk/kswmSCy33_4/s1600/Herpes.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p_aZIkvKOaI/T2DE97nb_aI/AAAAAAAAAUk/kswmSCy33_4/s1600/Herpes.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JPGDHcK-eOc/T2DGYnpfXzI/AAAAAAAAAVU/KPcJ4k5ytac/s1600/4-leaf-clover-11.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DXE7OPeCk94/T2DFB9pPfGI/AAAAAAAAAVE/eFJk1d4QKJM/s1600/poop.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DXE7OPeCk94/T2DFB9pPfGI/AAAAAAAAAVE/eFJk1d4QKJM/s1600/poop.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FLLTZpt2Kuk/T2DFATxEiOI/AAAAAAAAAU0/zz_3YHki1Ko/s1600/PRETEND.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FLLTZpt2Kuk/T2DFATxEiOI/AAAAAAAAAU0/zz_3YHki1Ko/s1600/PRETEND.JPG" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JPGDHcK-eOc/T2DGYnpfXzI/AAAAAAAAAVU/KPcJ4k5ytac/s1600/4-leaf-clover-11.jpg" /> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Just in case my week continues to be as busy as it has been, I’ll wish you all a wonderful St. Paddy’s Day ahead of time! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I expect you’ll all be drunk by 3pm, drinking green beer, making out with ‘Irish’ people and shoveling potato-based food items into your piehole whilst doing a drunken jig. </div><div class="MsoNormal">If you're not, I'm judging you. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cheers, beers and queers, my dears. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Xx</div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-48871231174921500402012-03-09T14:52:00.000-05:002012-03-09T14:52:12.293-05:00Don't Wear Crusty Sweaters<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Don’t pretend for a moment that you’re interesting 100% of the time. At one point or another, you fail at being exciting.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We’ve all been there before. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You’ve found yourself talking to someone, only to realize halfway through your story that not only is the topic fucking stupid, but you really have no point. Even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you </i>are bored and you’re the asshole who’s talking. You start clawing desperately to come up with some sort of punch line or some miniscule detail that will relieve the discomfort of the moment… but guess what? You can’t. In that moment, you’ve lulled your conversation buddy into a glazed-over, open-eyed slumber and they’ve probably spent the past five minutes coming up with a way to gracefully bow out of ever having to talk to you again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Congratulations! You’re a boring motherfucker. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ll give you some credit, though. You realized you were drowning halfway through the conversation and you tried to save yourself with a couple of puns and I offered a faint smile and a half-hearted single-syllable ‘ha’, just so you didn’t feel so alone. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That was awkward, wasn’t it? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You know what’s even more awkward? The people who don’t realize their stories suck. We all know at least one of these people. You know who I’m talking about. They’re those individuals who aren’t able to recognize that they tell stupid fucking stories about stupid fucking things that no one wants to hear about. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Examples? Don't mind if I do!<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Listen, I’m happy you have a baby. I’m sure your vagina has recovered miraculously and I’m going to pretend that I haven’t been suffering through graphic mental images of your husband suckling your milky teats during your rigorous hormonal sexcapades. But I don’t need to know the colour of your baby’s poop. I don’t need to know if it farts regularly or the fact that you’re so used to its puke that you just wipe it off and strut around town with your crusty sweaters like it’s a new, trendy style. </div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s not. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Puke is gross. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t care if it came out of a bouncing baby, or a fuzzy bunny. If one is puked on, one changed their clothes. That’s just the rules.</div><div class="MsoNormal">P.S. Stop talking to me about your baby’s digestive cycle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(The same thing goes to you crazy fucking pet owners. I’m sure it’s concerning that your dog’s poop is runny and green. But guess what? I’m trying to eat and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> picture a leaking dog anus. Go figure.) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Moving on…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“I had the craziest dream last night…” is one of those conversation starters that has two possible reactions. </div><div class="MsoNormal">1) The person is genuinely intrigued, and responds with an enthusiastic “Oh no way! What was it about?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">OR</div><div class="MsoNormal">2) The person is frantically looking around the room for an out. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Not another fucking dream story,</i> they think, as they reluctantly say “Oh?” and accept that they’re going to hear about it whether they want to or not. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">(The only exception to this is if the dreamer states “I had a dream about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> last night.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everybody wants to hear about a dream that involves them. This is true tenfold if it involves nudity.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">No matter how convoluted the dream may be to hear about, the person describing their dream are likely riveted and excited by this retelling. They feel like they’re digging into their subconscious to expose a world of fuckery and passion that is unknown to their conscious self. You know how I know this? Because I’m one of the asshats that is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">constantly</i> talking about my dreams. I know you’re probably thinking “What a fucking hypocrite!”, and you know what? You’re absolutely right. I realize that my dreams are not interesting to hear about. If you read the first paragraph of this post, that’s pretty much exactly how I feel every time I recount a dream. I never learn, though, so instead, you’re just going to have to sit there and take it. I’m not going to apologize for boring you. I have, like, 250 dreams a night and someone other than me has to fucking hear about it. Suck it. </div><div class="MsoNormal">(But don’t talk to me about your dreams because that’s just fucking boring.) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I could probably talk about bad conversationalists forever, (Ha! Then that would make <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me</i> a bad conversationalist! Oh the irony! Wait… is that irony? Fucking Alanis Morissette really fucked with my understanding of that term) but I’m not going to. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Instead, I’m dying to find out what makes you tick. Do you have any conversational pet peeves? Talk to me people! Just not about poop, or your dreams… but maybe about poop dreams. That sounds pretty funny. </div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-70672126872474784982012-03-05T15:18:00.001-05:002012-03-05T15:18:45.596-05:00There Are No Tacos Here<div class="MsoNormal">Today deserves a good, swift kick to the crotch. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Kind of like your mom. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">(Okay, that was rude. I take that back. I’ll leave your mom’s crotch out of this. For now.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you’re new to this blog, you may want to turn your head away from this post before your first impression of me is tarnished and soiled like your Friday night knickers. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you’re <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> new, then I should still probably warn you that what you’re about to read bears no relevance to the current season and is really fucking dumb. You’re welcome.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What the shit am I going on about, you ask?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well, my friends, I wish to embark on a journey with you. A journey into pet costumes. More specifically, ridiculous dog costumes that make me fear for the general public, dog owners and the poor canines that suffer through this embarrassment.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Why am I talking about this, you ask? </div><div class="MsoNormal">Because I fucking want to and sometimes I have way too much time on my hands. In case you’re wondering, <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.com/2012/02/you-have-to-love-me-i-dont-eat-your.html" target="_blank">no I do not have a dog (or any pet, for that matter.) </a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Before we get this party started, I’m sending a special shout out to DP, who is singlehandedly responsible for getting me sucked into this <s>douchetastic</s> insightful topic through a discussion on this up and coming website you may have heard of called Facebook. Thanks, DP, I’m sure my readers are really grateful. (Probably) (Not)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>The Loneliest Bride</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EPI1_TMUIOs/T1UX4XbW4SI/AAAAAAAAAUE/LanHgNxZ9dU/s1600/dog_dress_04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EPI1_TMUIOs/T1UX4XbW4SI/AAAAAAAAAUE/LanHgNxZ9dU/s320/dog_dress_04.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><div class="MsoNormal">This is probably one of the scariest things I’ve ever seen in my life. That dog looks suicidal and was probably plotting its owner’s death as this picture was being taken. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I made the mistake of inverting this picture into ‘negative’ and may never sleep again. I call the original picture “Dear Dog Owner, It’s Time to Join eharmony” and the inverted picture “I Will Eat Your Soul.”</div></blockquote><br />
....<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A_gUzIJKV9Q/T1UX4GBuNhI/AAAAAAAAAT8/wIX9ZkgwgyA/s1600/dog_dress_04+invert.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A_gUzIJKV9Q/T1UX4GBuNhI/AAAAAAAAAT8/wIX9ZkgwgyA/s320/dog_dress_04+invert.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I warned you.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Cheerleader</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y_9ziqxHSSY/T1UX3k7ns2I/AAAAAAAAAT0/nLjW1H6n2D8/s1600/cheer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y_9ziqxHSSY/T1UX3k7ns2I/AAAAAAAAAT0/nLjW1H6n2D8/s320/cheer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><div class="MsoNormal">Another suicidal dog, folks. </div><div class="MsoNormal">This costume has sucked the cheer right out of this furry fucker’s heart and it’s going to take a lot more than high-kicks and human pyramids to bring it back. I’m offended, the public is offended, and most importantly: your dog is going to eat that motherfucking tinsel and you’ll be singlehandedly responsible for reaching your hand up its ass to untangle your dog’s intestines. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Give me an EFF! You’re a dumb slut!</div></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Ketchup </b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OzE3garC6XQ/T1UX483GUlI/AAAAAAAAAUM/PnVOYeuq01o/s1600/ketchup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OzE3garC6XQ/T1UX483GUlI/AAAAAAAAAUM/PnVOYeuq01o/s320/ketchup.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><div class="MsoNormal">What. The. Fuck? </div><div class="MsoNormal">When you were considering all of the possible things you could dress your dog up as, how does a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">condiment</i> come in as the winning option? That must have been a really good joint you were smoking. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I seriously can’t tell if this is one of the most inventive ideas I’ve ever seen for a dog, or just the fucking stupidest. I’m definitely leaning towards the latter. If this were hot sauce, however, I’d be giving you a round of applause </div><div class="MsoNormal">(… I do love ketchup, though…)</div></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>The Raptor</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lbo2NIk68jg/T1UX3HFlK-I/AAAAAAAAATs/HHLXxAQL3is/s1600/Raptor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lbo2NIk68jg/T1UX3HFlK-I/AAAAAAAAATs/HHLXxAQL3is/s320/Raptor.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not going to lie; I think this is the best thing I’ve ever seen. If you dress your dog up like a raptor, I’ll probably <s>have sex with you</s> be your best friend. This is just <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bad ass.</i> </b></div></blockquote><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Dora the Explorer</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6me7ErRupJM/T1UX23mmCqI/AAAAAAAAATk/wF-_lSg_5w0/s1600/Dora.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6me7ErRupJM/T1UX23mmCqI/AAAAAAAAATk/wF-_lSg_5w0/s320/Dora.jpg" width="259" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><div class="MsoNormal">I am pretty certain that I’d pay to watch another dog pee on a dog wearing this costume. Dora the Explorer is a giant douchetwizzler. That being said, I’d also really like to buy this for a friend’s dog and make them walk their dog around in public wearing it. The humiliation both the dog and my friend would undergo could be life altering and therapy-worthy. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">No one said I was a good friend. </div></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>The Redneck</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yX9JZrI4hKM/T1UX5N0BjPI/AAAAAAAAAUU/RgahfgFkPh4/s1600/redneck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yX9JZrI4hKM/T1UX5N0BjPI/AAAAAAAAAUU/RgahfgFkPh4/s320/redneck.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><div class="MsoNormal">If I ever have a dog, they will wear this 100% of the time. </div><div class="MsoNormal">End of story. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ll always look hotter than my dog. </div><div class="MsoNormal">(That’s why people have dogs, right? So they can look hotter by comparison? </div><div class="MsoNormal">That’s what I thought. I’m glad we’re on the same page.) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal">I was going to post a picture of a dog dressed as a taco, but then I realized that the proportion of dog costumes that I <i>like</i> would start outweighing the ones I'm mocking, so that one will have to stay between me and the dog-taco. </div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">… Guess what, guys?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You will never get those 10 minutes of your life back. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If it makes you feel any better, those dogs will never get their pride back. So far, I think you’re winning. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">---</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What’s the best pet costume <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you’ve</i> ever seen? </div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-8231593247601811832012-02-29T13:08:00.000-05:002012-02-29T13:08:19.425-05:00Eat That Beaver!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Happy Leap Year, Motherfuckers! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have a secret to tell you. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I hear the term “Leap Year” it makes me think of that horrendous, mind-numbing movie with Amy Adams where she goes to Ireland to propose to her boyfriend. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This makes me feel a little bit dead inside.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The excitement of an ‘extra day’ has been shat on by a shitty rom-com, and quite frankly, I think someone needs to shed some blood for this. And not in the menstrual bleeding kind of way. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m also very disappointed in John Lithgow for participating in this monstrosity. He doesn't deserve any blood shed, though, because he has since redeemed himself, and I’d like to stay on good terms with him so I can cast him as the role of my father in the movie of my life. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">(… I definitely didn’t intent to spend so much time talking about that movie, so let’s move on, shall we?)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Tina of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="http://www.breakfastattinas.com/" target="_blank">Breakfast at Tina’s</a> </b>recently tagged me in a post asking 11 questions about myself. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I’d hate to be a party pooper, but I have the attention span of a gold fish and those questions are fucking hard. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Thank you so much for thinking of me and I hope one day I can redeem myself for not doing what is asked of me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>I did, however, read through the post and I saw that it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">also</i> asked me to post 11 random things about myself. Like all other self-involved bloggers, that shit shouldn’t be too hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m breaking the rules, yet again, but I’ve said it <s>once</s> <s>twice</s> twelve times: I do what I want. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Eleven Things You Probably Don't Care to Know About Me</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>1) I can’t pee if the shower curtain is closed. </b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Every time I go into a bathroom and the shower curtain is closed, I will look behind it and/or open it before poppin’ a squat on the porcelain prince. The only exception to this is if the shower curtain is clear/see-through. Obviously. I’m not crazy. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>2) I have an extreme fear of being pushed onto the subway tracks.</b></span> </div><div class="MsoNormal">This may not be a ‘rare’ fear, but my reasoning is ‘irrational’. For example, sometimes I’ll walk along the subway platform while putting on lipgloss and I’ll notice a girl a few feet and think ‘that girl over there looks like a bitch. Maybe she’s a crazy bitch and didn’t like the way I put this gloss on. Maybe she’ll push me into the moving train to teach me a lesson. RUN!” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">3) Every time I see a weirdly shaped/coloured thing ahead of me on the sidewalk that I can’t identify, I assume it’s a dead animal fetus. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">For those of you who have been reading this for awhile, you’re familiar with the raccoon fetus incident. At that time, I hadn’t discovered the joys of contact lenses yet, and often opted for walking around semi-blind. You can imagine the amount of ‘possible fetus sightings’ was extremely high in those days, but I’ll admit that even with the contacts, a potential sighting still occurs at least once a day. Fuck you, Keith. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">4) When I was camping in a trailer park in Venice, Italy, I locked myself in a stall of the communal showers. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t want to get into too many details here, but I used my toothbrush to jimmy the lock. There was nothing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> uncomfortable about being locked in a shower, naked in a foreign country. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">5)<span> </span>My bones crack like an 80 year old ex-stripper.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">6) Often, as a kid, I would say things without thinking and even after everyone laughed, I still wouldn’t know where I had gone wrong. (I say “as a kid”… but this still proves true)</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">There is a home video of me and my family exploring a museum that featured some taxidermied animals. In the video, I turned to my mom, excited and overjoyed and said “Mommy, eat that beaver!” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Little did I know that I’d be the one eating beavers. HAR HAR. A lesbian joke! </i></div><div class="MsoNormal">(I meant to say “pet”, in case you were wondering.)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>7) In middle school, I broke my wrist trying to reenact a Backstreet Boy dance. </b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">You know the music video where they hop over chairs and look cool as shit? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ya. Well it turns out an awkward 13 year old does <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> look cool as shit doing it. Especially in the middle of their school gymnasium… when they fall on their stomach, and roll around on the ground with the wind knocked out of them. Who would have guessed?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>8) I hit a girl in the collarbone with the cast from that injury.</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">The bitch let it slip that she had egged my (then) best friend’s house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may not be coordinated, but fuck with my friends and I’ll motherfucking hurt you. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">9) For the first 6 years of my life, I could not pronounce the letter “R” in English, but I could pronounce it in French. I also couldn’t whistle. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">According to my memory, my ability to whistle and my ability to pronounce the letter R happened on the same day. That may not be accurate, but fuck all y’all who say otherwise. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">10) I will cut a bitch who shushes me. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>11) I once got so drunk that I thought I went blind. </b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Turns out, I was staring at a pile of snow. </div></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That is all. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">*</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Any funny/embarrassing facts you’d like to share with me today, on this holiest of days?</div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-13566278692037661942012-02-27T13:59:00.000-05:002012-02-27T13:59:43.503-05:00You Make Me Urinate with Joy<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">It’s impossible for me to be objective when it comes to this blog. It is chalked full of the random shit that gets stored up in the cavities of my brain that is then spewed out, gets formed into sentences, and (sometimes) reluctantly gets published for the internet to pick apart as they see fit. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fact that you take the time to read it means a lot to me, even if I tell you that I hate you and that you should get fucked upside down with your mom’s dildo. (Okay, fine. I’ve never said that last part, but I’ve been trying to find a polite way to integrate it for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ages.</i>)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Regardless of my inability to be polite when I write, it is with EXTREME excitement that I announce today that I’ve won an award! Of the blogging variety! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v_YZtRmVEN4/T0vSDfIl-pI/AAAAAAAAASs/57vADF-b2Zg/s1600/Liebster+Blog+LOGO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="80" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v_YZtRmVEN4/T0vSDfIl-pI/AAAAAAAAASs/57vADF-b2Zg/s400/Liebster+Blog+LOGO.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It is with the greatest of motherfucking pleasure that I accept the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Liebster Blog Award</b> from the wonderful, funny and fashion-forward L-Kat of <b style="color: #674ea7;"><a href="http://deardiarylovederanged.blogspot.com/">Dear Diary.....Love, Deranged</a>.</b> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not one for ‘speeches’. (Seriously, if you saw me attempt to speak in public, you’d witness a girl who may or may not have had the wind knocked out of her, who looks like she has to pee and has no idea what to do with her hands. For real, though, guys. On the hips or off the hips? ON OR OFF?) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Picturing people naked is just ludicrous. How in the fucking world would that make me feel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">better</i>? Do you have any idea how many people I don’t want to see naked? Most people. That’s how many. I’d rather picture everyone as brain-hungry zombies, who can only be tamed with witty banter and brilliant speech-giving techniques. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Wait. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Who am I kidding. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I’d just rather not give speeches.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While this is a ‘written’ speech, and my nerves aren’t ‘technically’ an issue, I’m still going to save you the long drawn out acceptance speech where I claim my undying love for blogging and how much I adore all of you. Instead, I’m going to post a picture of myself. Riding a motorcycle. In a blonde wig. With a blow-up pink air guitar. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Why? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Because you guys make me feel like I’m <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> badass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Electric-guitar-playing-on-a-motorcycle kind of badass. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6Y4BNVTPEdk/T0vQ1Jost0I/AAAAAAAAASk/thQ1MpEvt0s/s1600/motorcycle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6Y4BNVTPEdk/T0vQ1Jost0I/AAAAAAAAASk/thQ1MpEvt0s/s400/motorcycle.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WHAT the FUCK is UP.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">I love you all. </div><div class="MsoNormal">(Especially those of you with filthy fucking mouths like me.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">* </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In keeping with the Liebster Blog Award rules, I’m going to proudly pass this along to five deserving bloggers. In my opinion, five isn’t nearly enough. Every one of you deserves this like Madonna deserves a punch to the throat. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Without further ado...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">The award(s) go to…</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Amelie </b>of <span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><a href="http://thegospelaccordingtoamelie.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Those Who Can’t Write, Write Blogs. </a></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Amelie is a loyal, hilarious reader from the UK who writes witty, clever retellings of her life’s colourful happenings. I knew I loved her when she explained that her “Mum's-On-A-Budget” version of Hungry Hungry Hippos was “Somewhat Peckish Dogs.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously. Love. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Shane </b>of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="http://www.wagthedad.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Wag the Dad</span></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.</i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Many of you may be familiar with him. If you’re not, you should be. He writes well thought-out, clever, opinionated blogs that tend to generate a bit of controversy. Plus he writes about fake vaginas and penis enhancement drugs. Win. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Jana </b>of <b style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="http://seriouslyshutthefrontdoor.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Shut the Front Door</a>. </b><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">This bitch is funny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a new blog, but goddamn is it funny. She’s witty and you should go check her out. I knew I was hooked when she agreed to sleep with a homeless man ‘if he could catch her.’ Gold. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Allie</b> of <b style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="http://imnotreallyabarista.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">I’m Not Really a Barista</a>. </b></div><div class="MsoNormal">She is one funny fucking lady. She writes amusing posts, including my personal favourite: her “unqualified” advice column. Her most recent is about masturbation. Oh yes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mel</b> of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="http://preposterouspace.blogspot.com/" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;" target="_blank">Preposterous Pace</a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">.</span> </b></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m breaking the rules right now because I know she was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">just</i> nominated for this award, but she’s my blogging BFF and I have to nominate her so TOO FUCKING BAD. Nobody said I follow rules.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mel is hilarballs (hilariousballs just sounds weird), and awkward. Plus she has taught me so much about cooking in my underwear. You should follow her. <s>Plus I hear her house is really easy to break into. </s></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Congratulations, you hilarious fuckers. Keep on doing what you’re doing!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">***</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">The Rules </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7;">If you are awarded the Liebster Blog Award, here are the rules you “have” to follow. <br />
<br />
<b>1. Link back to the person who gave you the award. </b><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">(You can give me a really offensive nickname if you want. I won’t cry myself to sleep. Probably.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7;"><br />
<b>2. Pick five deserving bloggers to give the Liebster Blog Award to (who have <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">less </i>than 200 followers) and let them know why you think they’re motherfucking awesome. </b></div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-43944851537623226562012-02-24T13:12:00.000-05:002012-02-24T13:12:48.170-05:00Keywords: Teenage Mutant Ninja Boners!!!!<div class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !mso]> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--></div><div class="MsoNormal">Like all other bloggers, I tend to keep my eye on how many people have stumbled onto my blog, which posts they decided to read, and where the hell they came from. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I remember when I first started blogging, I nearly pissed my pants when I saw someone from Norway found my blog, and immediately felt like I was a motherfucking international rockstar. (My dreams of becoming a Norwegian princess was quickly coming true!) Now that more time has passed, I’ve learned that the Norwegian was probably drunk and left my blog as quickly as he found it… but regardless, I was famous* in my own right. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>*Thanks to Ms. Annah Rondon of <a href="http://www.whenredmeansgo.com/" target="_blank"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Red Means Go</b></a>, I find myself constantly saying “famosity” in my head as if it’s a real word. I hereby declare that the dictionary is a giant doucherag and Famosity is, in fact, a word. Suck it, Webster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, and in case you haven’t already, you should totally check Annah out. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I write a blog post, I’ll admit that I start writing with very little concept of what my ‘theme’ will be for the day. Sometimes I use my <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.com/2011/12/meet-sharon-alt-title-please-excuse.html" target="_blank">blackberry notes</a> for inspiration, but most often, my fingers just start spewing what I like to call <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Verbal Diarrhea. </i>(I have never in my entire life spelled Diarrhea correctly on the first try. Seriously. Never. Fuck you and your double ‘r’s, and what the fuck is that ‘h’ doing in there? I hate you.) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I know that my blog has no real ‘structure’, but I can guaran-fucking-tee that I get the most joy out of slandering idiots, bitching and drawing attention to all things douchey. With this in mind, I’m sure it will come as no surprise to you that the key searchwords leading to my blog are fucking ridiculous. And wonderful. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It shocks me every day that I have loyal readers who ‘get’ my sense of humour and it brings me even more joy to know that my blog is being found by crude, horrid things that people are searching on Google. This morning I checked my key words for the month and nearly spewed coffee out of my nose. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I bring you:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>This Month’s Most Searched Keywords</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mtD9R9iDam4/T0fEDZNXuWI/AAAAAAAAASc/ZvmxWcy9hxU/s1600/search+words.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="325" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mtD9R9iDam4/T0fEDZNXuWI/AAAAAAAAASc/ZvmxWcy9hxU/s400/search+words.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some thoughts. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Kristina Kustra</b> is a dear friend of mine and I’m sure whoever was looking her up was delighted to come across posts about <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.com/2011/09/meet-keith-he-probably-eats-poop.html" target="_blank">dead raccoon fetuses</a>. Delightful. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ms. Doubtfire</b> searches have generated an alarming number of blog hits. People really love that film and I don’t fucking blame them. That shit is gold. The post can be found <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.com/2011/11/dude-looks-like-lady.html" target="_blank"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">here</b></a>. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Polkadot clovers.</b> Well, that one makes sense. Logic pisses me off. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“Squirted so much” Puddle. </b>This<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b>is a personal favourite of mine. <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.com/2011/12/meet-sharon-alt-title-please-excuse.html" target="_blank"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Sharon</b> </a>and I were recently discussing this one and decided that some poor weeping girl must have been devastatingly embarrassed when her boyfriend made her squirt that she took to the internet to find some answers. All I can hope is that her boyfriend now calls her Puddles and only fucks her in the tub like the classy bitch she is. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Crying in my underwear</b> made it in there twice. This makes me feel less alone, but it also makes me feel like a cliché. I’m willing to bet I’m the only one who had <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.com/2012/01/crying-in-your-underwear-is-overrated.html" target="_blank"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">beets</b> </a>involved in her weeping display of distress. Those fucking beets will haunt my dreams forever. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Polkadots vs run the world</b>. I told you guys I’d become Norwegian royalty, and everyone knows that when you rule Norway, the next step is running the world. (Probably with <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.com/2011/11/i-say-potato-you-say-lets-run-world.html" target="_blank"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">pigeons</b></a>).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Sex Valentines Shoot.</b> I can only hope that ‘shoot’ means ‘pictures’ and not ‘gun’.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Sharon Pigeon Nude. </b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">know</i> that someone out there was looking for pigeon porn. Sorry to disappoint, but I have a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">strict</i> No Nude Pigeons rule on my blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Teenage Mutant Ninja Boners!!!!</b> My favourite part about this is the enthusiasm expressed with those exclamation marks. I can’t even try to understand what the fuck the context of this was, but boy am I glad it found my blog. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #674ea7; margin-left: 0.25in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">A couple other favourite keywords that found my blog this week:</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><b>1) <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.com/2011/09/spanish-inquisition-gets-physical.html" target="_blank">Eldersnatch</a></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><b>2) Ninja Slut</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><b>3) How to deepthroat* </b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">I can’t even begin to express how proud I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">This must be the feeling my parents were talking about when they talked about "success."</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;"><i>*Holy shit are you ever in the <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.com/2012/01/my-life-is-sort-of-like-movie-cocktail.html" target="_blank"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">wrong place</b></a>, darling. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><i> ---</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"><i>Are there any funny keywords that found your blog? </i></div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-2286318978921216072012-02-22T19:49:00.001-05:002012-02-23T09:34:39.634-05:00Hand Me a Tissue... For My Nose, Perv.<div class="MsoNormal">F my L!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m sick. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m snotty and my voice is starting to resemble a phone sex operator who smokes 45 cigarettes a day and takes her daily vitamin with a stiff mug’o’whiskey. (I didn't say I sounded like a <i>hot</i> phone sex operator.) Also, my brain feels like it’s been covered in bubblewrap… and <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">not</b> in a fun kind of way. (I know you were probably thinking ‘That lucky little bitch. That would be so much fucking fun. I’d smack my head against everything all day long just to hear those glorious popping* sounds.’ Not today, guys, not today.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">*I think it’s important to tell you that I first spelled it ‘pooping sounds’. <i>Glorious</i> pooping sounds. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While I realize a run-of-the-mill headcold is something that gets and deserves very little sympathy, I’m going to demand it anyway. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sympathize with me, bitch! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve killed too many brain cells in my life to be able to afford this sort of mental blockage. Soon people at work are going to wonder if I’ve been spending my breaks taking a stroll with Ms. Mary Jane. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As a general rule of thumb, I try my best to get through the work day using the minimum brain power necessary. This means two things: 1) Out-of-the-ordinary questions can make my face turn as red as a constipated hippo and 2) I stare off into space a lot. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you’re anything like me, you’ve spent a great deal of time mastering the art of spacing out. Rookies make the mistake of staring off into the far distance, seldom blinking and often, inadvertently, in the direction of someone who is now convinced they’re being glared at. Stupid. Amateur. Don’t do that. If you want to give your eyes a lil’ rest in the middle of the day/meeting/conversation/on the subway, look down, and pretend you’re looking at your phone/newspaper/planned parenthood pamphlet and let your eyes drift off into that sweet glazed-over haven. No one has to know that you aren’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">actually</i> reading. If they challenge you, I recommend a swift kick to the throat. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">All of this is to say that when I’m sick, my glazed-over haven becomes my permanent expression. Even now, as I’m typing, I’m only half-focused at the screen. If you’d like to consider this a skill, I’d be fine with that. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">Despite my crippling illness, I’ve been assigned to sit with one of the (how shall I word this…) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">slower</i> trainees to try and iron out some of his blatant shortcomings in learning the ropes of the position. While I may not be the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">most</i> patient person in the world, I’m still (mostly) understanding when it comes to learning. Want to know what I’m <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">not</b> understanding about? Body odor. The big BO. That’s right, folks. This motherfucker stinks worse than Paris Hilton’s cooter and I’m forced to sit 4 inches away from him. All day long. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">I can tell that you’re pretty jealous right now. My life is pretty fucking glamourous. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">In case you’ve already forgotten, let me remind you that I’m sick. Snotty. Stuffed up. Congested. Booger-y. Before you roll your eyes and tell me to get the fuck over it, there’s a reason I’m reiterating this. I’m sure you’ve all been here before. You’re leaking from your face and no matter how often you blow your nose, it makes no fucking difference. Your snot has set up shop for a second by second drippity drip and it don’t care who it gets on. (Re-read that sentence 3 times and it probably still sounds just as bad and nonsensical.) My point is: When I can barely breathe out of my motherfucking nose and I can <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">still</b> smell your vile eau de stank, you’ve got bigger worries than not being able to click the right links on our website. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">JUSSAYIN’. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">I probably should be taking the day off of blogging to save you all from this horrendous pile of steaming fuckery, but too effing bad. It’s my blog and I do what I want. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">Since you can’t see me, I figured I should tell you that I’m also sticking my tongue out at you right now. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">Yep. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">I’m 12. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;"><br />
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</div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3922426971972792493.post-57015000475997536322012-02-16T13:09:00.000-05:002012-02-16T13:09:41.168-05:00You Have to Love Me, I Don't Eat Your Friends<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">I’m going to take a minute to talk to you about animals.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Before you run away screaming like your ass is aflame, I will assure you this is not a PETA post. Nor is this going to be a post about how yummy and delicious kangaroos taste. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cool?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sweet. I’m glad we got that out of the way. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some of you may remember such posts as <a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.com/2011/09/meet-keith-he-probably-eats-poop.html" target="_blank">Meet Keith: He Probably Eats Poop</a> and <a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_34511057"></a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><a href="http://polkadot-clovers.blogspot.com/2011/12/hey-roberta-gtfo.html" target="_blank">Hey Roberta, GTFO!</a> </span>If you haven’t read them, let me give you a quick rundown:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My landlord is an idiot, I found a dead raccoon fetus on my back porch, Keith is a teenage raccoon who likes to give me sass, and Roberta is the Queen Bitch squirrel who used to reside in the wall at the head of my bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Feel all caught up? Good. Me too. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m sure you’re thinking “Britt! You must feel so fulfilled with all of these wonderful critters in your life!” Well, sadly, you are mistaken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As much fun as raccoon fetuses and squeaky squirrels are, I find myself wanting more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I stroll down the street and see a cat, I <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">will<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></b>run after it and force it to love me. Not in a creepy, predatory way (probably), but in a w<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hy won’t you just snuggle with me and love me forever</i> kind of way. I’m pretty good at making sure they aren’t alley cats before I smother them… mostly. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So why don’t I just shut the eff up and get a pet, you ask? When it comes down to it, I am not in a place where I can own an animal. (Dear PETA, I know people don’t ‘own’ animals in that slavery kind of way, but fuck off. I say what I want.) My apartment is itty bitty, and I don’t spend enough time at home. I go away for extended periods of time, and I’m not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nearly</i> financially stable enough to replace all of the electronics/wires/shoes that the sonofabitch will undoubtedly stick in its mouth/butt. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I adore animals (particularly of the cat/dog/bunny varieties) and dream of a day when I can have one of my own <s>to dress up in dragqueen outfits</s> to love. Want to know a sad, little factoid about me? I’ve never had a pet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I suppose that’s not entirely true. I once had a pet guppy for a couple of weeks. (I can feel the jealousy radiating off of you from here, folks.) I got him for free at a garage sale. I named him Bob. I kept him in a rose bowl I also got for free that same day at the garage sale. It was all pretty glamorous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t mean to brag. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Bob and I had a gay ole time. We rolled in the grass at the park. We took long walks through the neighbourhood. We joined a pet playgroup and made all sorts of pals. Oh no wait, we didn’t do any of that. He was a fucking guppy and didn’t even have a face. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was a very responsible fifth grader and ended up bringing Bob into the science lab at school when I went away for a week with my family. I told people I wanted to be sure he would get fed, but truthfully, it was a relief to be rid of him. I’m pretty sure he died shortly after (probably from separation anxiety.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, don’t get the wrong idea. This is not an indication of my ability to have a pet. It’s an indication of how motherfucking boring guppies are and they have NO place being a pet of a 10 year old. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus they look like sperm. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After Bob, there were no other pet prospects. When I got old enough to move out, I lived vicariously through the pets of my friends, roommates and girlfriends. They always brought me so much joy, but not the same kind of joy as I always imagined people felt when it was their own animal. (I mean, people call their pets their ‘babies’ and they call themselves “mamma” or “daddy” of the animal… which I’ve always found really weird, but hey, who am I to judge? I guess I could have been Bob’s mama, but, like I said, he didn’t even have an effing face.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was I saying? Oh right. I lived vicariously through other people’s pets. Actually, I don’t know why I’m writing this in past tense, because I still fucking do. While I may seem really calm, cool and collected when I’m playing with your pet, chances are my brain is saying something like this: HE LOVES ME MORE THAN YOU AND WANTS TO BE WITH ME FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And you know what? He probably does because <s>I carry bacon in my pocket</s> I’m awesome. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">So, I’m sure you’re wondering what the fucking point of this post is. And you know what? There isn’t one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aren’t you glad you made it to the end? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Good. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Me too. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now give me your pet and no one gets hurt. </div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03954046604960045093noreply@blogger.com30