May 27, 2011
So last week I went on a road trip with my friend Anne to my home state of Missouri, so that Anne could go to her college reunion. And no, I was not her date. Although it would have been nice to have been asked. And it probably would have made her the talk of the reunion if she had shown up with a girl. So basically, she missed out on an awesome opportunity to be super-duper popular and crap. And I am really really good at making up stuff and pretending stuff. Which some people might call lying. But I just call being creative.
Anyways, Anne and I talk almost every day, so we decided to avoid each other for a week before the trip. Which was really hard, but worked out really well because we talked non-stop for a 12 hour car ride that really should have been a few hours shorter but in Arkansas Anne had to drive all slow and grandma-like cuz the roads were all curvy and hilly and she gets car sick. And nothing ruins a good old-fashioned road trip like a car full of vomit. At least I assume. I’ve never actually had someone vomit on a road trip with me. Although in high school my friend Stephanie had too much to drink at a party and vomited out the car window while I drove home. That was also the night she got felt up real good by her boyfriend and touched his weiner. And he was a level 10 douche-wagon so maybe that’s what made her get all vomitty up in there. I do know that just hearing about it made me feel kinda sick, so it’s definitely possible. And I think maybe I’ve mentioned that incident before, but in my opinion it’s really something that cannot be mentioned enough.
So anyhow, when we finally got to Missouri you’d think we woulda been sick of each other, but for some reason we weren’t, and after we got in our jammies we had wine and talked for about another hour and a half. And here are a few things I learned: When you are afraid a conversation is dying down, just start talking about poop, periods, general vaginal stuff, other people, any of the Real Housewives, people you used to date, things you’ve done that were against the law (Anne: 0. Patti: 1,283), people you hated in high school, food, and famous people you want to have sex with. (Dear Anne’s Husband, Your wife has a pretty decent-sized list. And if Curtis Stone is ever in Houston you should probably lock her in the closet. Dear My Husband, I couldn’t think of many. At all. Even my Paul Rudd I just wanna hold hands and maybe snuggle and watch a movie with. Possibly feed each other popcorn. I mean, I would probably get funky with Chef Curtis if there was a gun to my head. Or if I imagined a gun to my head. Or if he cooked me pretty much anything. And I do likes me some Bear Grylls. But as I’ve said before, kissing him is forbidden cuz once I’ve seen a man drink his own pee, Frenching is outta the question. But I do admit that this guy is on my list. And Anne didn’t know who he was. So Anne, here’s a photo:
This is Jason O’Mara. And he kinda makes my secret garden get all bloomy and stuff. And I hesitate to show him to you guys because he’s kinda under the radar and I like to keep him that way. Cuz once everyone else starts liking someone I kinda don’t like them anymore. So just look at him in wonderment for a moment and then forget about him. Cuz he’s all mine.
So to sum up our drive to Missouri, we kinda talked about really important things. But mostly about poop. And we also learned that box wine gives you a freakin’ mega-headache. Please you guys, learn from our mistake.
After Anne went stag to her reunion instead of taking my hot ass along like a good girlfriend would, I got a chance to visit some family and friends. And at my friend Kim’s house, after a few beers, this happened:
That’s me. Drawing on Kim’s upper ass/lower back area with a sharpie. And I don’t think it’s weird. At all. Cuz if you recall from the blog about her back surgery and the hospital hooker vagina (And I Could Never Watch The Little Rascals Again), she had a big scar that made her ass crack look extra long and I suggested she get a tattoo to cover it. And I made a drawing of it on my blog. And, you know, sometimes after a few beers it seems like a good idea to bring certain super-amazing ideas to reality. Kinda like the time my friend Margaret and I decided to float down a river in a plastic swimming pool in the dead of winter. But this idea involved much less ice, snow, sinking, getting soaked, having your nipples turn into nipsicles, and having to walk through a tundra dragging a pool with you to get home. So anyway, we brought this tattoo dream to needle-less life. And here is the result:
And although she said she didn’t mind if her crack was on my blog, I realize that she was maybe, possibly drinking a little at the time so I gave her an ass-giraffe. Cuz that’s the kinda friend I am. And come on you guys. You have to adore any friend who thinks it’s a great idea when you say “Hey! Do you have a sharpie? I wanna draw on your ass!” That, my friends, is a true friend. Even though she removed it the next morning with acetone. Which I thought was a bit rude, ya know, since it was my artwork. And I told her that I’m pretty sure that she’s now gonna get ass-crack cancer from using acetone down there so to not blame me if that happens. And it’s also probably a pretty good idea to not go trying to light any farts on fire for awhile. At least until that stuff has a chance to air out. Cuz I’m assuming it’s pretty flammable. And I’m also assuming that Kim has a certain amount of beer that would make her attempt such a feat. That is why I love her so.
And also, my sister gave me the best present I have ever received. No offense to everyone else who has ever given me a present. But this? This was magical. AND it holds alcohol:
This is a mustache flask, you guys. And this is what it looks like when you drink from it. Pure. Genius.
And I have a few more tidbits that I’ll share with you guys later. But right now my carpal tunnel is acting up, which I totally blame on Facebook, cuz I have been overwhelmed with friend requests from my super amazing and probably slightly mentally disturbed readers, and just clicking “accept” is a major thing for a person with a totally effed up wrist. Which is one more reason that I want a Finger Monkey. Cuz he could click the hell out of an “accept” button. And hopefully even be trained to type this blog for me. Cuz typing totally effs me up too. But I’d have to really trust him not to try and take it over and make sure he’s only typing what I say. Unless his ideas are better. Which they might be. Cuz Finger Monkeys, they probably have lots of stories to tell. And those are probably stories I wanna hear.
P.S. If you’re feeling givey: To Donate To MO Tornado Victims Click Here
(Beautiful Jason O’Mara photo from tvfanatic.com)
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