This might be the most random conglomerate of thoughts I have ever had.
I don’t care if you lost your goat in Farmville
Remember when people always did those stupid surveys on Facebook … “10 Things About Me!” or “15 Questions” or some such thing? Then you’d get tagged and it would become this chain where everyone would have to answer the questions too and tag more people and so on and so forth. It was a short-lived fad, although I still see people doing them once in a while. I think the reason why those never really caught on, though, and became a regular feature of Facebook (like birthday notices, or Fuckville – I mean, Farmville) is because everyone on your Facebook likely already knew those things about you. I mean, they are called Friends for a reason, right?
Okay, but when you blog, there are a lot of faithful blog followers that don’t necessarily know those things about you. For some people, this is preferable. They like to keep their blog somewhat anonymous for whatever reason, and that is perfectly fine. For others, though, they don’t mind their community of blog fans getting to know them a little more. While I won’t be sharing my physical address or bra size with any of you, I still like to place myself in the latter category. I think the more you people get to know me, the easier it will be to understand where some of my jaded, misanthropic, fucked up and foulmouthed rants come from. So when fellow bloggers tag me in blog-type surveys, I’m happy to oblige (at least until I get too lazy to complete them…)
1. Why do you blog and what keeps you blogging?
There are two reasons why I blog and why I keep blogging:
1- I started blogging as an outlet after graduate school. Things were a little tough at first in trying to deal with my new life of doing nothing (hell, they still are…), and so I took to blogging in a way to vent my frustrations I was previously able to hide inside books, classes, and papers. It’s a little more complicated than that, but I will stop there simply because this is the boring part of the answer.
2- I really like talking shit, telling jokes, swearing, talking about balls, and making lewd comments and insinuations.
2. What is something about yourself that no one would be able to tell by looking at you?
Also, I hate Farmville. You wouldn’t know it by looking at me, but I don’t give two shits if your goat is lost or your cow needs more grass. Seriously people.
3. What is your drink of choice when you are looking to get crunked?
HAH! Can you imagine me crazy drunk? If by drunk you mean two glasses of wine instead of my usual one, and by crazy you mean I fall asleep and snore and scratch myself through the night while drooling all over the couch pillows …
… well, then my drink of choice is red wine. Malbec to be precise. Malbec out of a tumbler instead of a regular wine glass with a stem.
And this is where I’ve run out of steam. There were all these other questions about describing myself and shit you just don’t really care to know about me. Seriously, guys – I’m pretty boring in daily life. Of course, special thanks to MrMary for giving me the opportunity to answer the first three of his questions, only to stop answering the remaining ones and refusing to put anymore effort into following the rules of the game. I am an utter failure.
Not just a video, bitches, but the video that will knock your pants right off your head (wait, huh?). As some of you may have noticed in my last blog post, the eBook compilation of my best and new 2011 blogs was released on Kindle and Kindle apps today. Well here is the next level of harassment to try and encourage buying my book, the book trailer. Enjoy.
And… The Reason I Don’t Snort Cocaine
I’ve had another goddamned cold, allergy, and sinus thing this last week and – by God – I have blown my nose so much it is unreal. I have blown my nose so much that I have used approximately 11 boxes of Puffs Plus and 4 rolls of toilet paper when the kleenex ran out. I have blown my nose so much that I have considered how fun it would be if I were an arsonist, because I could have taken all of my used and very flammable kleenexes and started some insane fire. Lastly, I have blown my nose so much that it feels like razor blades are cutting at the edges of my nose even when a slight wind picks up and disturbs my ever-so-sensitive nostrils.
In other words, my nose fucking hurts. In the shower this morning, between washing my hair and deciding whether I wanted to finally take one friend’s suggestion of attaching a feedbag to my face to just catch the snot from now on, I thought about how bad it must be to be a coke addict. I mean, from just six days of excessively blowing my nose, the damn thing feels like I scrape it clean with sand paper every morning. It hurts so fucking bad. I cannot even imagine how much those peoples’ noses hurt. Nor do I want to.
In my infinite shower wisdom (that is the place where I do all my thinking, incidentally), I decided that not only do I not snort cocaine now, I will never snort cocaine. Sure, I don’t want to have a heart attack from overdosing or (even worse) speed balling. And I’m sure that using a highly addictive and illegal street narcotic is probably on the “morally wrong” side of my ethical being. But beyond all of that, I just really could not deal with the nose trauma that would come along with it. Right now, I’m slathering Aquaphor on my little nosy-wosey and yelling at anyone who walks by too fast and causes the air around my face to disrupt my sensitive nostrils. I wouldn’t want to make a career out of that so as to further my cocaine addiction.
And with that, I’m going to bed. No I am not crunk. Nor am I on cocaine. Just the good ol’ B(itch) being her crazy and seemingly random self again.
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