I was checking something on my blog for a friend and realized I haven’t posted anything since September 9th. I figure that’s way too long to not punish y’all write a post, so here I am.
How’s my decrepit, traitorous back? Thank you for asking. I can now bend over without using every curse word I know (and that’s a lot) and I’ve put the heating pad away for future old lady ailments. I’m not googling “How many damned Motrin can I take before I overdose my lame ass?” everyday just to make sure the answer hasn’t changed. My deep tissue massage went well. It made me more sore (sorer?) for a couple days but I think it helped. I have another one scheduled for next month because I’m a masochist like that. We are planning on going back to Six Flags over Georgia in a few weeks for Fright Fest and I plan to give the Mind Bender a lot of side eyes and shade for screwing me up. Bitch.
Let’s get on with the August/September issue of Tits and Bits, where I clean out my list of funny and maybe not so funny tidbits (your mileage may vary) one liners and happenings which may or may not deserve a whole blog post or I’m just too damned lazy to write a whole blog post about.
Me: I had a nightmare. I had another baby.
E: Was it mine?
Back off. He’s taken, ladies.
My friend Lulu was dealing with some hair in a spot she’d never dealt with being hairy before and asked for my advice. Well, I actually don’t remember if she specifically asked for my advice but as I do in all situations like that, I gave it to her anyway. My response was “Shave everything that doesn’t move and if it does move, you chase that shit down and shave it anyway.”
When I was in Texas this past July, my besties and I went to my brother’s bar for another wonderful drag show. Yes, I still owe you a post on that. I’ve been busy doing old lady shit like lounging on heating pads and cursing Time. Anyway, Fantasia somehow talked me into agreeing to get our nipples pierced that night as soon as the bar closed. I agreed because I was drunk and apparently I’m a pussy and can’t say “Hell no” to friends. Luckily, the tattoo shop was closed by the time the bar closed. Fantasia still won’t let it go, though.
Fantasia, I’m making it official. I do not want to have big ass stainless steel needles inserted into my precious, tender nipples. They have never done me wrong and you’re asking me to subject them to this treachery? I don’t know what your nipples ever did to you but they seriously need to sit your ass down and have a heart to heart. Y’all need to hug this shit out. I guess I could possibly turn on my own nipples under certain circumstances but you’re probably going to have to roofie me. Like more than usual.
And I’ll get that Girl’s Night At The Drag Show wrap-up post written soon, y’all. I promise. I mean it this time. Don’t leave me, baby. I’ll do you right from now on.
We were in Daytona Beach this past summer and that place is chock-full of alligators. E and I started talking about how to successfully wrestle a full grown gator. You know, because we’re experts on that being Texas natives and now living for the past several years in central Alabama, where the closest I’ve gotten to a free range gator is the deep fried variety when we eat at Pappadeaux’s. Anyway, I said “To capture a gator, you just use the same technique I used to capture you, baby – blind them and sit on them”. You’re welcome for that advice, single ladies. Be sure to send me an invite to the wedding.
I was recently caught in a web surfing worm hole and came across an article titled “30 Reasons You Need A Pair Of Leather Pants”. Here’s 30 reasons I don’t: The 29 pounds I’ve packed back on and all of the deep South for 10 months out of the year. I swear, these bitches.
I’m married to an engineer so I can’t avoid being ensnared in some scientific mumbo jumbo talk every now and then, despite my wailing and gnashing of teeth. During one of these discussions, E condescendingly asked, “You know what an EMP is, don’t you?” After I flipped him off, I said indignantly, “Yes, I do. I saw Godzilla, thank you very much!”
On a side note, “Let them fight” is one of my favorite movie quotes of all time.
On a final, sad note, Alabama lost against Ole Miss last Saturday night. Someone didn’t read my Primer To Being Friends With Me During College Football Season or my Amendment To My Primer To Being Friends With Me During College Football Season. I know that’s a lot of reading but my friendship is usually worth it. Okay, not really. I wouldn’t go to the trouble, either. Anyway, I had my own little meltdown and this was the product of that.
As soon as I think I have all my Alabama football bases covered, some Einstein gets a football hard on and thinks they found a loop hole to my football rules. New amendment. And seriously, this shit is getting old. I can’t keep track of all this fuckery. Watch your own damned shitty football team and worry about your own damned dogs in the fight. Anyway, back to the Amendment to the Amendment to my Football Primer Guide To Staying Friends With Me During Football Season: Texts to E will NOT be read to me, motherfuckers. Also, I’m not sending your ass that delicious Harry & David’s Baklava this Christmas. That’s right. You done shit your bed.
Roll Tide, anyway, y’all.
Thanks for reading, as always, even you motherfuckers. Have a good weekend, y’all!
Steph On The Rocks 