So, I many as well tell you. Right now hanging on my refrigerator is a big old scribbled sign that says in bold sharpie print:
NO BEER FOR YOU!
Then there’s a big list of things I need to do underneath.
2. Parking tickets
4. Finish Eggers
5. Car payment
6. Mail cards
7. Clean stanky-ass kitchen
8. Call your mum!
blah blah blah and on and on…
That is, this here mouse doesn’t get a pellet ‘til she runs through the maze of Life’s Dull Endeavors and finishes all the shit she has been neglecting in the name of fun.
That’s right, it’s like it’s 1986 and I have enrolled myself in some sort of self-motivated tough love program. What of it?
And you know, I don’t want to brag or anything – but so far - it’s been working pretty well. Though, the parking tickets remain untouched, I am surrounded by piles of laundry and that “new” Eggers book, well by the time I finish and all of the library fines accrued I might have just as well have bought it (not that it is necessarily hard to read, but my reading has otherwise been occupied by other things such as The funniest thing I have seen in a long damn time . No, seriously. Hit that link. I am sure you have all seen it already, but I go back often to laugh because it is pure evile genius. It is my latest love) and Mom, I swear, I will call like, tomorrow!
I mean, other than that – I am golden. And you know, taking on such tasks makes a girl thirsty. And umm, I am an adult! I make my own rules!
So let me just pop open a Hacker-Pschorr and let you know I have been neglecting Google updates. That is, the freaky little fun searches that bring people here to my little page.
Well, of course there is the usual:
Sorry, not here! Try the attic!
“30 year old thonged women”
Honestly, this very specific search I get all. the. time. But, you know, not unlike tobacco, it is good to know the thong industry has a future. And no thanks to me, the noun “thong” apparently become a some-what accepted adjective of sorts.
Then there is The very specifically odd:
How was your birthday?
About 3 months ago, but otherwise fine, thanks!
“Old ass station wagons for sale”
Didn’t realize the ex-boyfriend was in the market.
“Girls gone wild for IX"
It is nice to know those who frequent the viewings of The Girls Gone Wild video series still manage a grasp of the Roman Numerals.
”Looking for pussy in Wisconsin”
I-90, exit 45B. Tell ‘em large Marge sent cha!
Put the nitrous oxide mask on -dental –labour
Not that the spelling of “labour” tipped me off in the first place but considering this hit is from a “.ca” ISP, I have come to the conclusion there’s a Canadian with a freaky anesthesia fetish running around - you have been warned!
Another one I constantly get. It’s a long story. No time to explain. You Google it, you’ll find out for yourself maybe.
No. Really. Another one I get all the time. I am thinking the Internet has spoiled the creative joke-making minds of the future because how hard is it to make your own Starbucks joke?
Q: How many baristas does it take to make a large Latte?
One to take your $4.50 and another to smarmily reply IT IS NOT a “Large” but a “Grande” with the obnoxious condescending eye roll while he/she steams the milk.
See? There. Just made that one up right here. C’mon Google searcher people! Time to reach from within and embrace your inner smart ass already. It is not hard!
And so finally, in other news, for those of you anxiously awaiting the Date With The Easy Musician Update. Well, be happy to know my prediction became a reality - he was indeed, Easy. But other than some good old-fashioned smooching your old pal ann-frank remains chaste.
Oh, please - it’s not like I wouldn’t sleep with him only if he, I dunno, maybe shut up and stopped talking about himself and his music and his “art” and his philosophy on every single. fucking. thing in the world you can imagine for one goddamned second things would have been better?
For. Real. This whole experimental friend-of-a-friend set-up thing has only reinforced the many possible occupational stereotypes alive so far. Not only did the previous date with the Mechanical Engineer wind up with the inevitable question about how many digits of Pi I could remember, but the musician was soooo obnoxiously angsty and sooo self involved his Ego kicked his ID’s chance of getting lucky.
Really. The whole experience screamed so much of the Act I: Enter Egomaniacal Musician Cliché - I could write a screenplay.
But once again – do not cry for me diaryland! The experiment is not done yet! No, I have one more friend setting me up later this week with…Live! From the local PL!… drum roll please: The Librarian!
But I swear to god, if he “shhuuuushes” me, I am going to lose it and start my very own Google search for “theeee nunnery”.
a total addemdum, hang with me here: my dear pal Mangus drew a totally kickass picture of me (and he is a dland pal so we have never actually met, so you will have to forgive him for making me much more seXXy than I actually am) that I love so so much because it is cool and literally smoking (yes, mangus, I love the ciggie!) and just about everything I am not but would
love to be I mean, look at the kick as t-shirt!.
Because trust me. I am notthatsexysmokingcool.
But c'mon! He put me in an Alkaline Trio T-shirt! Long live Mangus!