dudes that hit on you

hey guys. i decided to try and show up to class today.  i can't guarantee that anything of quality will come out of this because i've been trying to take a decent poop all morning and it's really all i can think of.
but mainly i just want to talk about getting hit on.   because i'm like really bad at it and tend to not even know it's happening.  
so my bachelorette party was this weekend.  and basically i was excited to drink everything in sight but then also being terrified that i would get sick and also gain ten pounds because HELLO CARBOHYDRATES HOW YOU VEX ME SO.  
but anyway saturday night was the going out and the night where you had to be around men and someone asked me if i got hit on a ton and i was all "ummm, not that i really recall."
because even if it had happened i always feel like a hummingbird when i'm a bar just flitting from one friend to the next, drinking things, and living in my own world.  like this.  

so dudes just typically aren't even on my radar.   and after this weekend i feel like there's two types of dudes that hit on things with vaginas.
dance floor predators fast forward to me dancing by myself, and terribly mind you, and suddenly i'm caged in by a tall male and there's a denim trunk banging against my rump and none of it is appealing.
because first i'm not used to tall things.  i ring in it at a midget-sized 5' 1" and shitler maxes out at 5' 6" and we're basically the perfect match - vertically speaking.  but i digress because this giant's arms suddenly became a flesh cage and my backside felt violated and then he decided to ice the cake by serenading me with whatever terrible rap song was playing at that moment.  and it was then that i decided that the hot breath of a strange man singing sisquo-like songs in my ear is where i draw the motherfucking line and i bunny hopped away.
a good dancer i am not.
grasping at straws, last chance predators it seems fitting that our night out at the bar would draw to a close with rain.  as in "raining cats and dogs," "sheets of rain," a "downpour," if you will.  but it was in that moment while i cradled a friend like a baby as she sobbed uncontrollably into my shoulder that i stumbled (due to the dead weight of said cradled friend) and almost fell into a boy standing close to me.  being the well-mannered person i am i apologized for almost falling into him and turned my attention back to whispering that "everything will be okay" to my friend.  it was in that moment that i felt a strange hand creep up the back of my dress and firmly cradle my right butt-cheek.  and it was the exact last thing that i needed while i stood in the pouring rain so i turned to him and said "could you please not grab my ass?  i appreciate the sentiment, sir, but kindly just don't."  and i think i confused him because his hand lingered on my ass cheek for like a thousand beats too long and his face looked confused but then he finally stopped with the rear grabbing and i could go back to enjoying being a drowned rat.
i'm sure i'm missing like a thousand other types of getting hit but those are the only two that happened to me and are therefore pretty much my favorite.
but good times were had by all.  here's evidence of that.

p.s. i'm sure you're all wondering about my poop and i just thought i should mention that i have taken said poop since beginning this post and it was a wonderful colon-cleansing poop.

cue anger

this will be quick and short. because i'm still slightly fuming about it and i should stop dwelling but it's hard to not simmer in my pot of hatred stew because it smells damn delicious and i enjoy being angry.
but i digress.  because i had done the responsible thing on friday and reserved some flicks on a local redbox. so all i would have to do was roll through and pick them up sometime on saturday.  so i did just that.  i picked up some diet food stuffs, checked out at the grocery store, and journeyed to the redbox while chatting with my momma.  two women, unbeknownst to me, had apparently set up camp at the redbox machine and were carrying on about movie watching decisions like it was a goddamn united nations summit.  initially i had no issues (although it's rude as shit to spend an obscene amount of time picking a redbox movie) since i was on the phone with my mom.  i was telling her this story and in retrospect i can semi-understand where perhaps the skank bags in front of me may have attributed my story telling/attitude towards the current redbox sloth-like selection of movies.  so imagine my surprise when of the tortoises masked as a woman finished up, walked away, and threw this statement over her shoulder at me "patience is a virtue, maybe you should learn some."  
and i immediately lost it.  and proceeded to follow her around the corner and politely ask her if she was talking to me.  when she smirked and nodded i succinctly told her to shut her goddamn twatbag mouth.  her mother didn't like that.  my momma laughed and told me to relax.  but really.  don't talk to me about patience.  because this is the girl that hasn't a carb since new year's and i sincerely don't need some rude whore making over the shoulder comments at me because she doesn't have the vagina strength to say it full-forced to my face.
and i understand full well that still being angry about that turtle-paced bitch is unreasonable. but whatever. i've been looking at pictures of these dummies all morning instead.

thirty days

there's like thirty-some days left till i will be officially like legally bound to shitler. talk about terrifying. one month till i'm married MARRIED to shitler. barf.  kidding.
last night we had marriage counseling. and by marriage counseling i mean the man that got ordained online in order to marry us meets us at the bar and him and shitler drink beers and we eat prime rib and laugh at each other and occasionally we talk about shitler and shannon related things.
IT'S THE BEST MARRIAGE COUNSELING.
but then some man was there.  a neighbor man.  and he butted his way in and and started asking us questions and demanding answers.  and it caused me to get twitchy because HELLO NEIGHBOR MAN YOU ARE NOT MY FRIEND, MY THERAPIST, OR THE MAN MARRYING US SO KINDLY SEE YOURSELF OUT.  but really you guys.  he asked me to tell him why i want to marry shitler and when i answered he proceeded to explain that people answer questions in three different forms.  child form, parent form, and adult form.  he said my response was a child response and then pressured me for my adult response.  and he wouldn't let shitler answer until i answered.  and then he poked and prodded and kept saying "well how does he care for you?  protect you?"  and in my head all i could think was "look motherfucker - keep this shit up and it's going to be you needing the protecting because i'm going to punch you in the sternum and then rip your goddamn dick off."  
because the deal is that me and shitler work because we just work.  and i don't need to explain anything to anyone.  we don't put each other on a pedestal (although i think shitler would like that because he's king of all the attention whores) and i am certainly no lady that would sit here and tell you that he makes me a better person.  because i think it's the opposite.  because we can be in a room full of remedials and we need to only make eye contact for a second and we instantly know all the terrible thoughts the other is thinking about all the remedial people.
and he's one of my all-time favorite people to sit around and talk shit about other people with.
and he's super duper fun to get ghost faced wasted with him and i also like to tell him things. and i like to treat him like shit from time to time and be a super bitch to him. and i like that he just takes it.  and sure he protects me.  like one time he was going out of town and there was some rapist on the loose and he showed me how to load the guns so i could shoot that rapist should he try to home invade me and my vagina.  and i'm sorry if those are all my CHILD answers but i'm clearly a far ways off from ever being an adult and i'm ok with that.   because if you don't marry someone that you want to fuck shit up with then you're doing it wrong.

if i was a rapper and had a mic i would drop it.

girl bye.

p.s. i really, really wish i was a rapper.

moral of the story i get married in thirty days and i don't like people therapist'ing me.

tito & magnus

CURSE YOU CURSOR is what i mind shout to the world.
because HI my life is lame and the things i want to tell you i fear you probably won't want to hear.  but whatever.  because those things i want to tell you include some of the following: i haven't taken a decent poop in what feels like an eternity.  the scale continues to drop but buy like an 1/8 of a pound every two point five days.  and even though i'm not due to suffer the red death for like ten more days all i want to do is sit in dark room while i rock back and forth and listen to alanis morisette's "jagged little pill" on a loop and curse past boyfriends that i didn't have.  also there's a health risk assessment at work today and it entailed fasting for the last twelve hours but i couldn't sleep last night so i ate a half a jar of pickles and i'm currently gorging my face on iced coffee and cantaloupe.  because fuck the rules.
like this goat.  we should all be more like this goat.

except now i can't stop thinking about why i don't have a pet goat.

life is so unfair.

also i wish someone would give me their prescription for pills so that i could enjoy them.
because pills are zero calories and i just think i would like some.
i wish had a pharmacist friend.

OK AND i just think the pills would help me better imagine things like this happening:

honestly i'm sorry this post has gone nowhere.

although i never had any intention of it going in an actual direction but either way i'm still sorry.

but i've also been staring at this picture for a good long while:

and i think that the little dog's name is tito and the big one is magnus and i can't wrap my brain around how i'm not tito and riding off into the sunset atop magnus ready to take on the world.

p.s. i shouldn't be allowed on the internet.

p.p.s. i also shouldn't be allowed to have thoughts.

i was drunk(ish)

guys.  i made it. praise be.
after roughly three months without drinking and dropping close to twenty-five pounds i was completely petrified to drink any alcohol (even though it felt like i salivated at the thought of a cup of vodka).  but when a friend is all "hey for a wedding present can i pay for a limo and drinks?" you gladly accept and mentally give your three-month sober liver a pep talk.  so we did it.  me and my liver.  we made it.

i just so greatly enjoy things of the ridiculous variety.  like mainly pictures.  which i'm sure comes as no shock to you all.  like there's no greater thing than having a picture of myself and shitler looking utterly ridiculous.

and i forgot how aggressive drunk girls are.  and it's certainly something i haven't missed.

like when a pair of skanks called us "DICKS!  YOU'RE A BUNCH OF DICKS!" because my purse was in the limo and i politely said that they couldn't take the limo for a ride around the block.

girl bye.

and i survived mainly because i panicked severely at the bars and managed to guzzle gallons of water.  so much so that i was sober at the end of the night and only ended up with a "i stayed up way past my bedtime last night" hangover.  which, in retrospect, isn't all that terrible.

i only hope every morning-after-a-night-of-drinking ends up looking like this.

he's not nude.  i swear.  just wearing boxers and sitting in such a compromising position that he looks naked and it gave me such a case of the unstoppable giggles that i had to take pictures.
and then share them with the world.