Excuses, Excuses
So basically, this shit has traumatized me into action.
Thanks, Maine. Thanks a lot.
And what am I gonna do about it? Well to start, I'm gonna make excuses. Fuck midterms. Fuck diseases. Fuck visitors, unless they get me drunk, laid, or fix my closet doors/toilet/entry way light. Okay, unfuck the visitors. Except the getting laid part. Keep fucking those ones. Me, not you. What ev.
So yeah, my classes, as per usual, did that thing where you've got midterms followed by a series of tests and assignments that keep on coming at a steady pace until finals. Except, of course, midterms get pushed back until they land right squat in the middle of your birthday, and cram those proceeding tests and assignments into a two-a-day schedule which you're just not gonna make it through without giving up on food, sleep, any promises you may have made to anyone, anywhere, for any reason, and child rearing.
Shit; Where is my kid, anyway?
Put the brakes on, right on the same day as you have two midterms back to back, to come down with the fucking Spanish Flu or some shit like that. Possibly a cold, but no one ever called me less than whiny when it comes to sick. Fuck you. I gave birth. I can whine if I want too.
So now I'm a week behind in my readings/assignments/lectures (Of which there is no way I'm giving up a smoke break to photocopy someone else's notes, sorry recently recuperated GPA, you're goin' down. Again.)
And what can I think about? Sex. I need sex. And bad. Hell, I've taken up shaving regularly on the off chance that, should I be walking down the street and slip, fall, and land on a penis, I'll be prepared. But I'm so fucking crunched for time that I have not yet packed some beers in my fridge and batteries in my vibe to help me through this. Hell, just about the only thing in my fridge is one stale brownie, and that's not gonna help much. (All you "chocolate as good as sex" people, step off. I don't know who you're screwing, but if they can't beat a brownie, you'd best be moving on.)
And that's all I've got on that. So from here on out, it's fun and funky link day. Read on, my good folks, and don't forget to click that mouse. Or send me a mail order boy toy, if you'd like. One or the other:
Thanks, Maine. Thanks a lot.
And what am I gonna do about it? Well to start, I'm gonna make excuses. Fuck midterms. Fuck diseases. Fuck visitors, unless they get me drunk, laid, or fix my closet doors/toilet/entry way light. Okay, unfuck the visitors. Except the getting laid part. Keep fucking those ones. Me, not you. What ev.
So yeah, my classes, as per usual, did that thing where you've got midterms followed by a series of tests and assignments that keep on coming at a steady pace until finals. Except, of course, midterms get pushed back until they land right squat in the middle of your birthday, and cram those proceeding tests and assignments into a two-a-day schedule which you're just not gonna make it through without giving up on food, sleep, any promises you may have made to anyone, anywhere, for any reason, and child rearing.
Shit; Where is my kid, anyway?
Put the brakes on, right on the same day as you have two midterms back to back, to come down with the fucking Spanish Flu or some shit like that. Possibly a cold, but no one ever called me less than whiny when it comes to sick. Fuck you. I gave birth. I can whine if I want too.
So now I'm a week behind in my readings/assignments/lectures (Of which there is no way I'm giving up a smoke break to photocopy someone else's notes, sorry recently recuperated GPA, you're goin' down. Again.)
And what can I think about? Sex. I need sex. And bad. Hell, I've taken up shaving regularly on the off chance that, should I be walking down the street and slip, fall, and land on a penis, I'll be prepared. But I'm so fucking crunched for time that I have not yet packed some beers in my fridge and batteries in my vibe to help me through this. Hell, just about the only thing in my fridge is one stale brownie, and that's not gonna help much. (All you "chocolate as good as sex" people, step off. I don't know who you're screwing, but if they can't beat a brownie, you'd best be moving on.)
And that's all I've got on that. So from here on out, it's fun and funky link day. Read on, my good folks, and don't forget to click that mouse. Or send me a mail order boy toy, if you'd like. One or the other:
- My bad. I do believe I totally off-topic-ed this comment section. So if anyone remembers Webster, or has another was cute, but on further review, is kinda freaky show, go tither. Sorry, Matt.
- I think that this completely justifies me doing this:
- And still calling myself a feminist. Because every once in a while, you forget that feminists are people too, and hell, it's just one political version of the "No, I'm more Indie than you," debate. So yeah, in my world, feminism is good, but that doesn't make my boobs any less lovable. Cause I think they're just dandy.
- And don't worry, I haven't forgotten that Stephen Harper's an ass.
- I need some new tunes. Advise.
- Yeah, that's about it. I'm gonna go think about sex now.
posted by Impulsivecompulsive | 7:49 PM
4 Comments:
"Or send me a mail order boy toy, if you'd like."
Should a Matt-shaped box arrive on your doorstep one day, I have only one request: as you are writing "return to sender" on the front of it, maybe toss in a few crackers and a bottled water. I'll probably be out of food by the time I reach Canada. Thanks.
I'd make the exact same joke as Matt except I'm married so it would be less "charming" and more "skeevy." But the sentiment is there. That picture fragment is hot.
And, though I hate for my entire comment to be boob-centric, I totally get what you're saying about feminism. Isn't feminism about complete female empowerment? As in... "I can be proud of my body and not be considered a whore"? I'd say posting that sort of picture is 100% in line with feminism.
Which, by the way, is right in line with the "dear feminists - pornography isn't bad" post we've been promised.
Matt: Don't be silly. I'd keep you. For a while at least, then I'd pass you on to Shadow.
Maine: That there's the problem: One brand of feminism says that empowerment includes being proud of your body. The next says that a woman is more than the sum of her parts, and until that's accepted, work the mind, not the body. So where is that middle ground?
I'd say it's where ever the hell I put it.
Sara: Yeah...it kinda makes me want to cry too.
Nah, I'll stick with laughing at myself. At least the only one farting in bed is me.
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