Soul Mate Synchronization

First and foremost I have to take a minute to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart for the immense outpouring of advice, words of kindness and honest compassion and graciousness from each of you in response to my last post. I could never in a million years have imagined the reception I would get from people I seemingly don’t know in real life when discussing something so personal and it means the world to me. So thank you all for that.

Now back to our regularly scheduled cynical debauchery.

Ya’ll remember how I told you that I fell in front of hordes of degenerates and mongrels at my local Publix a few days ago right? I’m sure you remember cause it’s the one where I explained in graphic detail the crumpled, mortifying mess that became me that dark, foreboding evening. I epitomized every chubby girl’s worst nightmare. Sprawled on the ground, fists desperately grasping for that ½ gallon of ice cream that you and everyone around knows you don’t need, close to tears and wallowing in the pool of unidentifiable fluid that caused your plummet in the first place. Yea, that was me.

And if you’ll recall I came home and wailed like a little bitch about it.

Well, it seems as if the Boo and I are once again demonstrating our closeness and soul mate eligibility by being so fuckin in sync it’s scary. (Is it sad that my first instinct was to write *NSYNC in that sentence? And yes, with the appropriately placed asterisk preceding it? JT’s moves in “I Want You Back” were the stuff wet dreams were made of and “It’s Gonna Be Me” may have very well likely been my personal anthem to any given crush that week. But that’s neither here nor there.)

Now where was I?

Oh right, the Boo and I’s perfect relationship and how we’re so disgustingly adorable and connected that we might make you want to gouge out your own eyeballs with an oyster fork and then spit roast them over a raging fire out of the soul-wrenching agony and recognition that your relationship will never compare with ours. (Too much? Mmmkay. Just provin’ a point.)

I’ll just cut to the chase. Because we’re so on the same wave length the Boo telepathically channeled my luck and busted ass yesterday. In the shower. And seeing as he’s basically Yao Ming status height wise it wasn’t a pretty sight. (I mean it was kind of hilarious to come in to the bathroom after hearing what sounded like a herd of buffalo thundering through the nether regions of our house and find my 6’7” man friend huddled amidst a sea of magenta and gold shower curtains, soaking wet and trying desperately to stand upright and cover the whale and scrots all at the same time. So yea, I laughed. But only briefly. And only after I was sure he wasn’t badly injured.)

Turns out I’m a raging bitch and he was/is badly injured.

After 3 hours at the doctor’s office and another hour or so filling prescriptions and buying a ghastly looking sling, we’ve learned that he’s actually fractured his labrum (which is not to be confused with “labia” which I got another good laugh out of. God, I’m mature.) In laymen’s terms, he’s cracked the part of his shoulder where the ball goes into the socket (that’s what she said) and symptomatically, every time he moves even the slightest it basically feels like he’s being repeatedly stabbed with a two-edged rusty hepatitis smothered shank. (Or so I’ve been told.)

He may need surgery but we’ll have to wait a few days to see the specialist and possibly get a CAT scan to see more of the damage but bottom line is it’s a good thing he’s as tall as he is. Because if he was my height he would have come down on his neck and not his shoulder and very likely snapped his spinal cord in half. Needless to say we both feel a little like we’ve had some sort of near-death experience. The Boo almost dying or at the very least becoming paralyzed and me losing my best friend. So if nothing else we can at least be happy that it wasn’t any worse and we are still together and in one piece.

Then again, it’s easy to see the bright side of things when you’re not the one sporting the shiteous sling.

(Sorry babe. Thanks for letting me make fun of your wound. Get well soon. Kiss kiss. Love you mean it bye.)

Some of You Belong on "To Catch a Predator"...Seriously

Over the last few days I’ve noticed my blog traffic increase somewhat and even made some new bloggy friends because of it. (Hey ya’ll. Welcome to my digs. Take your shoes off and make yourself at home. Meanwhile I’ll just be by the door stealing fancy once used Manolo Blahniks a la Carrie Bradshaw’s shitty mom friend. Don’t mind me.)

In noticing the traffic I couldn’t help but note some of the ways in which people have stumbled across my blog. Slightly disturbing.

(And anyone who doesn’t have Stat Tracker or Google Analytics, well you’re dumb. JK. But really, get with the program already. You can totally catch all the creepy lurkers and give yourself false confidence when your counter climbs to more than 2 hits a day. I mean, not that I would know but…)

Here are a few of my favorites from the past few days.

“freaky atlanta hoes”: Oh yeah, I too love those crazy broads. However, something tells me that whoever Googled that little gem wasn’t exactly thrilled when I led them here.

“Why is Cosmo the Bible?”: Because I said so. Duh. That must have been a man. Or a very, very naïve and misinformed woman. Either way, shame on you.

“Badass Mother in law C word”: I’m still ashamed of this.

“tea bag scrotums in face”: Still pissed about this. And a little concerned. Why would anyone want to research MULTIPLE scrots in or around the face? Sickos.

“Aubrey O’Day sexy slutty oufit up skirt”: Some dude with a flaccid penis clenched tightly in his fist was probably really pissed at me when he clicked this link. Whoops.

“where is pissy in the Bible?": I don’t know and I don’t care. Why do you? Get a life.

And my personal favorite:

“weeping ass adventures part 2”: Ummm, can you explain to me what exactly this entails? I mean I know I cry a lot but I really don’t think I’m up for whatever this is. And why is there more than one? Was the original so compelling it begged a sequel or is this reader just anxious for a future release? (Maybe ‘release’ wasn’t the greatest choice of words. Or maybe it was. Ba-da-bap. I’ll be here all week, folks!!)

Needless to say, I’m really starting to question the moral compasses of my new readers. Yet, somehow I’m linked to all of this? Well that’s just a little shameful…and hilarious.

Scrots + T-Bag = True Love Forever

As you’ve likely noticed, The Boo and I have a slightly odd relationship. We tease each other endlessly (in a loving manner, of course) and the end result is often times either hilarity or tears (on my part). Either way, it’s undeniably entertaining.

Take for instance, this past Saturday afternoon. I decided I liked the name “Scrots” for Boo’s new nickname. (The O is long here, people. As in Scrotum. Don’t ask why. I just think it’s hilarious. Say it yourself and see if you don’t crack up. Even a little. See? Told you so.)

So I proceed to relentlessly refer to him as “Scrots” as many times as humanly possible in the ensuing 5 minutes. Naturally, he hated it and told me to cut it out. Seeing I was effectively doing my job of annoying/pissing him off, I continued with the name-calling tenacity of an 8 year old. (I got skill.)

Finally, the Boo had had enough. He warned me that if I didn’t stop, aforementioned sack (you might remember our last meeting with it here) would promptly end up on my face. Loving a challenge and not thinking my precious Boo could ever do anything so heinous, I called his bluff.

“Whatever, Scrots!”

Let’s just say he wasn’t playing around.

Two seconds after the words left my mouth, I found myself pinned to the couch laughing/screaming/almost wetting myself as my neck/hair/back of head had a tete-a’-tete with Scrots himself. It was hilarious and terrifying at the same time.

Needless to say, I’ve got my own nickname now.

T-Bag. Not so funny.

Vanilla Chai and Rebellious Ovens

I figured in light of yesterday’s deep and reflective, dare I say, profound post (like how I flatter myself?) it was time to lighten it up a bit. There’s a lot to cover and it will probably translate as a convoluted mess of nothing in any way relevant but who cares because no one reads this. (Like how I suddenly revert to self-deprecation and a teetering-on-the-brink-of-slitting-my-wrists-kind-of-self-image in the attempts to gain sympathy from you, my unsuspecting and now annoyed reader?)

It’s ok cause that’s how I roll. (Like how I use completely irrelevant and urban slang that comes across awkwardly and that I could so obviously never get away with in real life?)

Well whatever, yo! (Like how I do it again just to piss you off? Yea, I’m badass).

So anywhooooo. I had a very interesting conversation with the Boo two days ago. First, let me preface this story by saying this. The Boo is a man’s man in every sense of the word. He is big and strong and likes his beer and football. He hates America’s Next Top Model and The Hills and all the other girly reality “crap” (as he calls it) that I absolutely adore. He’s all tatted up (which I LOVE) and yet, still loves his mom very much. He likes to watch movies about killing and is in every way the “protector” (which I find pretty much adorable). I could go on but I think you get the point.

Now subsequently, Boo can change it up every now and then and throw some people off. Like those who just met him would probably never guess that he is an excellent cook (5-star quality in my opinion. I think he should go on Top Chef. That would be cool.) He also wears a mask to sleep in every night (I know. Adorable.) And, not that he would ever admit it to anyone (and he will probably KILL me for saying it here) but he kinda, sorta (READ: definitely) likes the movie P.S. I Love You.

So keeping all this mind, I was still a little surprised when the Boo came into the living room before his shower, shirt off and a very impressed look on his face. Our conversation went something like this:

Boo: You’re Secret deodorant works better than mine.

Me: (halfway listening but mostly paying attention to the TV. Obviously.) Huh?

Boo: You’re deodorant works better than mine. The Vanilla one.

Me: (turning my full attention to him now. Realizing the possible hilarity of what’s about to ensue) What? You used it?

Boo: Yea I was out so I used yours and it worked better than mine. Usually by the time I get in the shower after walking around all day and sweating, I smell. But not today. (Sniffing his armpits for emphasis)

Me: (Laughing now at the prospect of a 6’5” grown man parading around all day with Secret Vanilla Chai deodorant on and loving it.) Let me smell. (Sticking my nose in his pit. [Yea, we’re close. Be jealous.] Then, in amazement.) Wow. It smells like Vanilla.

Boo: (Nodding proudly) I know.

Me: (With a hint of a smirk) Well, you can have it. I don’t use that one anymore.

Boo: Well I will till I get something else. I just usually smell so bad after walking around campus all day and sweating…

Me: (Trying not to laugh now) Yea. Maybe you should use it on your balls.

Boo: (GASP!! Storm/Sulk off to the bathroom leaving me to laugh hysterically in the living room.)

Approximately 7 minutes later…..The Boo emerges from the bathroom dressed again.

Boo: I did it.

Me: You did what?

Boo: I put a strip of it behind my sack.

Me: (Laughing) You put Women’s Vanilla Chai Deodorant on your sack??

Boo: (Nodding) Yea. You told me to!

Me: (Uncontrollable laughter amidst gasps of air and tears streaming down my face)

So yea, that was pretty much the funniest conversation ever. And just one among many that pervades our day to day life. What? We like to keep it interesting.

Boo will definitely be giving me silent treatment for this. Haha Hopefully I can talk my way out of it cause it was just too good not to post.

Moving on.

Oh how ironic life is. The Boo and I went a straight month (almost) of going to the grocery store every single day after work just to pick up dinner for that night. Let me tell you. That ish got expensive!! (But we’re lazy procrastinators so what do you expect?)

So finally, Tuesday we worked up the energy to go full blown grocery shopping. With an actual cart and everything. $130 later we were super stoked and beyond impressed with how grown up and responsible we were being to finally have enough foresight to shop for more than 24 hours from now.

So we get home all excited. Ready to cook up a feast and what do you know, our freaking oven stops working. Holy hell this sucks balls. Boo tried to fix it and I just pouted (Clearly I’m a big help.) I got all dramatic like I always do and lamented our fate. All of those groceries were now going to go bad because of our stupid, stupid oven. (Yes, that’s a direct quote.)

Two days later. The stove is fixed and all is well. I just wanted to point out that God must think he’s funny or something. Subjecting me to such despair in vain. I guess that’s his way of saying “Don’t wait so long next time you lazy slugs.” (And yes, I recognize that that’s slightly juvenile sounding but people, it’s God after all. Have some freakin respect.)

Ok well that’s all for now. I had more to blab about but my fingers hurt and I am at work after all. Maybe I should actually try and get something accomplished….

Who am I kidding? Not you? Well at least we’re on the same page. (Like how I still haven’t forgotten how much this annoys you? Yea. I’ll be back.)