I secretly want to punch you in the throat if . . .

. . .  you interrupt my busy day to ask me to come to your office and help you with a technology-related issue. I work in the marketing department, not the IT department. Call an IT person. I guarantee you they can fix it. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE. I GOT SHIT TO DO. I swear to you, there is a woman on my floor who asks me how to download a picture from her e-mail EVERY TIME.

. . . you come in my office while I’m eating lunch, stand over me as I’m putting the fork to my mouth, and ask nosily, “WHATCHA EATIN?”

. . . you call my office phone, which does not have caller ID, and start yapping away about some favor you need from me and expect me to know exactly who you are and what you are talking about. INTRODUCE YO SELF, FOOL.

. . . you ask me why I’m not married yet or why I don’t have children. Mind your own beeswax. I don’t ask YOU why you’re a no-neck cockwaffle, so shut the shit up.

. . . you force me to listen to Christmas music before December 20th.

. . . you refuse to have sex with me because you have a sprained ankle. I’m looking at YOU, Lawyerman. Man up and let’s do the sexytime. Just dangle that bitch off the edge of the bed. Problem solved.

. . . you URINATE ON MY FUCKING STOVE. What the hell, Berta? The internet wants to tell me my cat has a urinary tract infection. I just think she’s being a little bitch.

I’m KIDDING, y’all. I totes love my cat. I got her some canned cat food and a heating pad. Chill out. Happy Friday!

I never claimed it was a GOOD blog post.

Wait a minute . . .

. . . what’s this?

Is it . . . could it . . . be?

A BLOG?

From LRC?

Yeah, don’t ask me what I just did there with that POKE thing. I don’t know, either. I guess I was trying to like conjure up images of poking something unrecognizable (like a blog post from moi). Because THAT’S the smartest thing to do. Why do we do that? Why do we poke stuff when we don’t know what it is? We (and when I say we I mean people. Sorry if you’re not a person) are fucking strange.

Bee Tee Dubs, while I was Google Image-ing pictures of poking (TWSS), I came across this:

Isn’t that horrifying? And the kid is all nonchalant, like, “Yeah, I just shoved a freshly sharpened pencil like, way far in my ear. What’s the big effing deal? Gimme a 40 and let’s superman some hoes.”

Aaaaanyhearingloss, yes. Your eyes are not deceiving you. I am blogging.

Why, you may ask?

Because LAWYERMAN IS AWAY.

And when Lawyerman is away, LRC PLAYS!

And by “play,” I mean blog, be a douche on twitter, reload tumblr every five minutes, and wait for someone to get online and talk to me while I drink Coors Light out of a can while getonmyhorse plays in the background on loop.

Obviously.

With my weekend to myself, I can’t decide if I’d rather

1. take advantage of the fact that I don’t have to cook a five course meal all weekend and eat like a bird… like I ate when I was 10 pounds lighter, pre-Lawyerman, and not feel like a fucking cow, OR
2. eat as much cheese as possible, just ’cause I fucking CAN. Not that Lawyerman would ever try to prevent me from inhaling a fortnight’s worth of sharp cheddar in two days (I just wanted to say fortnight), but because I equate cheese consumption with rebelliousness. Don’t ever say I didn’t live on the EDGE.

Both options sound lovely, but my guess is that option number two (huh. huh.) will reign supreme because CHEESE NEVER LOSES.

Plus I’ve already eaten like eleven slices of cheese.

So yeah.

I guess option number one is out.

While As Much Nothing As Possible is the only thing I’ll likely cross of my list this weekend, in two weeks I will be skidding into Philly international to visit THIS LADY.

Someone is going to have to invent a new word for epic after all that awesomeness happens.

I made a graphic to commemorate the occasion, but I can’t post it here because of that whole semi-anonymity thing, and it has our beautiful faces on it. But trust me. It’s beautiful. And tie-dyed.

Also, if you haven’t clicked the getonmyhorse link yet, I suggest you do that now.

SHUT UP WOMAN GET ON MY HORSE

So there you have it, I have spoken. To be honest, I mainly blogged because I wanted to post a comment on my future husband Jason Isbell’s blog and in the off chance he were to click forward to my blog, I didn’t want the first post he saw to be a post about my horrible asparagus farts.

TMI Thursday: Things About Flatulence

Happy TMI Thursday, toots and tootettes!

OBLIGATORY ASIDE ABOUT “TOOT”: Next time a conversation gets too serious, clasp your hands together, furrow your brow slightly, and without blinking say the word “toot” with a straight face. That’s a little bonus LRC-adventure for ya. You’re welcome.

For today’s TMI Thursday I will share some Things About Flatulence with you, in bullet form.

• Now that I have an intern in my office (literally, she’s in my office. Like, sits-across-from-me-at-my-desk-and-I-can’t-read-tumblr-when-she’s-here-because-there-are-too-many-nipples-oh-and-by-the-way-have-you-been-reading-my-tumblr?), I, uh… can’t fart like I want to. I was so ready to just let one rip earlier today until I realized, yeah hi, there’s another person—a person I’m supposed to be setting a positive example for—in my office. Oh, but when she leaves? It’s a regular C&C Fart Factory in here.
• This morning, I was lying in bed with my Lawyerman. I was telling him how crappy I felt and that I just wanted to lie in bed with him all day. “You know what always makes me feel better?” he said. “What, baby?” I asked. “BRRRRONK!!!!!!!!!” Yep, he farted. Of course. I forgot about it for a minute because I didn’t smell anything (also, he farts about every thirteen seconds so it’s not like this was a rare occurrence) and we went back to chatting. I reached down and playfully snapped the elastic on his boxers. Guess what happened? Yep. Residual fart went directly in my face. Awesome.
• I was already aware of the fact that asparagus is supposed to make your pee smell funny, but until recently I had no idea it would give you pungent, unceasing gas as well. The other night, Lawyerman and I had dinner at my house, and it was quite a lovely meal indeed. Within the half hour, however, I was producing Old-Man-Post-Baked-Bean-Dinner-quality farts with alarming frequency. I was even able to fart on command, punctuating my sentences with the beautiful music of my anus (Gloria Estefan was right—the rhythm is, indeed, going to get you. Gloria Estefan joke courtesy Chandler Bing). After one particularly fragrant bunghole emission, Lawyerman even had to leave the room. Yep. Lawyerman, a 6′1″, 240-lb. grown-ass man was outdone by a 5′3″ (nice try, I’m not telling you my weight) leetle woman. I’ve never been more proud of my digestive tract.

My embarrassing internet presence, pre-LRC

What the shitting hell is wrong with me? THREE blog posts this week? And I’ve already written and scheduled my TMI post for next week?

What can I say, I’m feeling prolific. And awesome.

I’ve been feeling nostalgic lately, so I’ve been trying to remember the various personal webpages I’ve had since my parents first got dialup on a 14.4k modem 13 years ago.

The first one was on GeoCities, wayyyy before banner ads. I even remember the address! I was 13 (wow, that was half my life ago) and I learned HTML from a friend I met on the interwebs (I TALKED TO PEOPLE ON THE INTERNET AND ACTUALLY DIDN’T GET RAPED OR KILLED—WHO KNEW?). I actually wrote out that shit by hand, yo. I still remember a decent amount of it, which is a pretty good skill to have, I think.

Anyhoodle, I remember my first website looking something like this:

~*~*~*[Long Red Cape]’s Page*~*~*~ Hi! My name is [LRC] and this is my webpage! LOL! My favorite band is BUSH —OMG Gavin Rossdale is SO HOTTTTTTT(insert midi music clip here) Sign my Guestbook • View my Guestbook

Plus probably some animated .gifs and pictures of the band Bush. My friend Claire and I were obsessed. I’m even following Gavin Rossdale on Twitter now, this is how deep it goes.

Also, remember guestbooks? I made the mistake of telling one of my (evil) friends about my site. She shared the address with a guy I liked and his friend and they went on my guestbook and made fun of some of the things I said. They signed their names as “Suddenly Susan Farted.” I’m pretty sure I cried and didn’t talk to anyone for a week.

Ah, junior high.

REMEMBER MIDI FILES? They were like the redheaded stepchild of music files. They were lame reproductions of regular songs (think “ringtones” before they were actual songs) that sounded like BEEP, BEEP, BOOP, BOOP, BEEEEEEEP! and everyone who was anyone OMG had a midi song that automatically played on their page! DUH! This was before MySpace, folks. This shit was way ahead of its time.

OMG Y’ALL, REMEMBER WEBRINGS?

OK, I’ll stop. Sorry. Getting a little carried away here.

I also remember having an Angelfire page. The address was http://www.angelfire.com/hi/ihaveagaydog. Yes, I exploited my dog Sam’s latent homosexuality by naming my webpage “I Have a Gay Dog.” Holy shitballs I was a messed up adolescent.

After I outgrew centered text and putting ~*~*~*~*~ before and after everything, I graduated to a Tripod page and started using frames and pictures of Courtney Love and/or other pictures of women in screaming girl bands tinted blue in Photoshop. I was dark, y’all. I even think I wrote, like, poetry and shit then. I’m sure I wrote about important things such as going all the way with my high school boyfriend on his porch and urging him to “get it over with already” because I was tired of him asking me if he could just “put it in one time,” or about how cute my Purrr-fect shirt was that I’d just bought from 5•7•9, or about how I was going to threaten to cut myself if I had to do one more goddamn Georgia History project.

See how far I’ve come since those days? I write about important shit now! Like, um . . .

Hmm.

Yeah…

Gimme a minute.

I’ll get back to you on that . . .