He Can't Feel His Face

The other day I suddenly realized that I have developed a crush on Lil' Wayne. That's right. This guy:


I'll go ahead and say it for you: What in the hell?!?! I must be going through some shit. I think it started when I was at Nail Connection getting my feet did, and I read in GQ that he has "FEAR GOD" tattooed on his fucking eyelids. I got baffled into a crush. This isn't the first time this has happened. Sometimes I just get so confused by everything about a person that I can't stop thinking about them and it turns into a baby crush. The last time this happened was with Batista, the WWE wrestler. I really like it when he unleashes The Animal!!


His job requires that he not wear pants. So grody!

A Mystery is Afoot

Someone shoved a pair of underpants into my mailbox.

Panties, colloquially. Red and pink striped Victoria's Secret panties, size small, specifically. I have composed a list of suspects.

1. The Goth Girl in Apt. 8: Last week, me and my buddy/neighbor Alex were smoking on the balcony when Gothy McSoulisdark forced herself into our conversation. For 20 damn minutes. She was boring and not funny and she wouldn't go away. A couple days later, Alex and I were playing Turner Classic Movies Scene It in Alex's apartment with the windows and shades open. Alex got this clue: "What 1969 movie had the tagline, "One man went looking for America. He never found it." It was Easy Rider, but she wasn't getting it, so to give her a clue I went into the whole "Yip-yip-yip-yip-yip-yip!!!!! Indians." thing (if you don't know what I'm talking about, rent Easy Rider. It's the best damn part of the whole movie). That exact moment, Gothy came out of her place, and hearing my "yip-yip" routine said, and I quote, "What is that, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on crack?!" That, my friends, is not only demonstrative of how not funny she is, it basically amounts to word salad. Then, as her first bout of verbal diarrhea garnered no response from us, she tried again. "Xena Warrior Princess!" We continued to ignore her. The next day she came outside while I was smoking alone. We did not speak.


Could it be an act of vengeful mischief?

2. The Australian: A couple months ago, the Australian called me a stupid bitch for drunkenly blasting Aerosmith at 7am. Is she still mad?


3. Alex: She says she didn't do it, but this kind of seems like the work of a buddy. And look at her! Those eyes are full of mischief!!


4. My husband, Landon: He was the one that "found" the offending underpants.


Seems shifty to me.

5. Caralee McElroy: I can't see any reason why not, and I would like to hear her alibi.


I would love to hear your thoughts on the suspects. Tampering with the mail is a Federal offense!

Mini Donkeys

I have an imaginary pet. It's incredibly convenient. My one bedroom apartment is never too small for her and I never have to walk her. She's an English Bulldog, which would normally run me about $1500, but since she lives in my head, I got to waive that fee. But Miss Nomi Malone just ran into some competition. This week I found out about miniature donkeys.



Now, I love all things tiny. You can increase any object's cuteness by shrinking it. That, my friends, is scientific fact. And while full-sized donkeys are not necessarily cute, miniature donkeys are about the cutest thing since the birth of Cinnamaroll. In Addition!!! there is a mini donkey breeder in Texas that names all of their donkeys after country music superstars!!!!! Whooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaa!!!! I have chosen Aaron Neville as my imaginary pet mini donkey, and I have decided that he and Nomi Malone are BFFs a la Milo and Otis. Awesome!!!!

(little boy included for scale. He is not one of my imaginary pets)

Look how cute they are together!

Labiaplasty

Lately, I've been fascinated with the concept of vaginal reconstructive surgery. Personally, I spend about five minutes a year thinking about my labia, but apparently there are women out there who are so dismayed at the appearance of their "labes" that they will risk losing clitoral sensation to, um, tidy up their boxes. In my attempts to understand labiaplasty I looked at a bunch of before and after pictures, and frankly I am sick of looking at vagi-gis. So here is the closest approximation of a labiaplasty before and after I could come up with without having to use actual vaginas.
Before:

After:


Do you know what I mean?

Bacon Waffles

A couple weeks ago, on the way back from Eastern Washington, me and my buddies stopped for breakfast at a Family Pancake House. I capitalize it because that was the actual name, not just the type of establishment. That's the kind of place I can get behind, y'know? Call it what it is. And they didn't stop winning me over there. The entire staff was Mexican. Not just the cooks, or busboys. Everyone. Well, everyone except for this waiter that appeared to be about eleven years old and had red hair that looked like a hat. Kind of like this:




But, y'know, eleven, and, um, human.

So, we get the menus, and what do i see? Bacon Waffles. Not bacon AND waffles. Bacon Waffles. It's exactly what it sounds like; waffles with bacon crumbled into the batter. Awesome. They also had Ham Waffles, but why get ham when you can have bacon? God, I'm hungry.

Not only were they fucking delicious, they were time efficient to boot!! No time wasted going back and forth; bacon, then waffle, then bacon, then waffle. Bacon Waffle, Bacon Waffle, Bacon Waffle. I'm a busy woman. That's just how I roll.