A Lot of People Google Tits and Booty.

Guys! 

If you’re still out there- there’s something I need to tell you.

I’m not dead. 

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.

This is not going as I’d hoped.

Let’s put it this way: I’m balls-deep in life stuff.

I know you don’t want to hear my excuses, but too fucking bad. 

Here they are:

1-     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 at work at home was a fantastic fucking waste of time. 

2-      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 Nantucket!*

*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. 

3-     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. (Read: I’m too busy having sex and cuddling to write blog posts.)

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 Where the FUCK have you been, Skank!? You now have your answer.  

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. 

You guys are the motherfucking tits.



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.

An Open Letter to Hot Sauce

You spicy little bitch, you.

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 because of the pain you cause.

You get me. You get inside of me like no one else. (Heh. Gross)

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.

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.)

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.

Just stay away from my snatch, k?

XOXOXO

Love,

Britt

Tell me, friends, do you like it hot?