Dirty texts, body farms, and incest

Oh, hello there, blog!

I almost forgot you were here!

I was telling Andy the other day that I feel like I should be blogging more regularly. That I shouldn’t start being boring just because I have a boyfriend. And while I don’t want to blog only to have something up here and be able to say, “Well, I blogged. Now I can get back to reading TFLN my low-paying job,” if I stopped blogging now, I’d feel that it was a result of being boyfriended.

And I can’t be havin’ that.

I’m an independent woman, yo.

This is MY SHIT.

Anyway.

So after all that whining about Being My Own Person and Not Allowing My Relationship To Define My Blog, I’m going to talk to you about my boyfriend.

Swell.

So, this past week was the longest we’ve been away from each other. He had some continuing lawyer education crap in Buttfucky starting Tuesday, and I had a wedding to attend on Saturday. He was coming home Friday, and I was leaving that same day, before he got back home. So it was Sunday before we could see each other again.

In a new relationship? Where it’s all sex, all the time?

Six days is a Long.

Fucking.

Time.

So what did we do to pass the time?

We sent naked photos of ourselves to each other!

Awesome!

I admit, this was my first foray into amateur porno photography. No man before The Lawyer has ever received a dirty picture from me, except that one time I sent Murray a picture text of my boobs. So I felt a bit cheesy doing it, but we did have a lot of fun. It’s a good thing we’re both on Verizon, because holy hell the amount of texts we sent each other last week. Lawd have mercy.

I had some real gems from The Lawyer: Drunk In Buttfucky Edition. I would have saved them, but there wasn’t enough room on my phone. They were somewhere along the lines of “I cn haslryd stadn up rghhtnow” and “jesus peprmnt telphone ham sandwch.” These were still going strong into the weekend when I was in South Carolina at my cousin’s wedding.

So I spent about 40% of the reception going into the bathroom to meet his demands of “show me your boobs/ass/vagina.”

Class. I has it.

Some other lovely bits of information I picked up at the wedding?

One of my cousins works on the body farm at [Southern University], where he has the distinct pleasure of boiling the skin and meat off dead human bodies, then piecing back together their skeletons. Hello, dream job! JEALOUS!

And here’s the really sad/fucked up info.

The mother of the bride? AKA my dad’s sister? Dating. Her. Stepson.

Let me repeat that. Step brother of the bride? Is dating the bride’s mother.

If you STILL haven’t wrapped your head around that one—this means that my aunt is dating her ex-husband’s SON.

They even have the same FIRST NAME.

FUCKING. KILL. ME.

Someone pissed in my gene pool.

Then vomited and shat in it.

I hate the fact that I’m even admitting this. It makes my family sound so trashy. But hey. The things we admit for blog fodder.

And if THAT weren’t exciting ENOUGH . . . when I went to The Lawyer’s house upon my arrival back home, we immediately got down to business and were promptly walked in on by his mom, who is visiting town to watch his swearing-in.

FAIL.

I gotta P

The lovely, hilarious, and beautiful brookem over at Skrinkering Hearts did one of those posts where you are assigned a letter of the alphabet and then you have to blog about ten things you love starting with that letter. I wanted to participate, so brookem assigned me with the letter P. If you want to participate, leave me a note in the comments and I’ll assign a letter to you. Fun fun!

10 Things That Make LRC’s Life That Much More Enjoyable, Beginning With The Letter P

1. Purring. Those of you who are cat lovers can attest to this—there is nothing more soothing than the sound of a cat purring in your ear. Especially when kitty has that look of contentment on her face, eyes closed and an expression that you’d swear was a smile, if only cats could smile (pictured below). My kitty, Pepper (yep, that’s her in the picture!) is the BEST at purring and snuggling. She has it down to a fine art. I’m one who has to have a low, constant buzzing noise to go to sleep (box fan, let’s elope) and Pepper’s purring soothes me to sleep almost immediately.
2. Photography. This has become a hobby of mine over the past year, since I got my current job and hence inherited the task of handling a big, fancy DSLR camera. The one I use is pictured below. I want to purchase one of my own someday (D90, I’m looking at you), but right now it’s just not in the budget. Thanks, Murray, for leaving me with a mortgage I can’t afford. You’re super! I recently went to a photography class so I could figure out how the eff to use the damn thing. I’m still pretty green at this, but one day I hope to improve and who knows, maybe I can make a side job out of it, photographing events and such. Right now, though? It’s just a hobby.
3. Pearls. They’re just so classy and timeless to me. I love them in any size or color. I’ve begun my own collection; I just can’t stop. My attire can seem a bit stuffy sometimes, what with the cardigans and argyle that can be found in abundance in my wardrobe, but I just love the classic look. Pearls just seem to complement my clothes nicely. Boys: no pearl necklace jokes here, mmkay?
4. Pretzels. Almost every time I go to the mall I get one of those gigantic, greasy, salt-covered pretzels from Auntie Anne’s and devour it in one sitting with a little tub of cream cheese. I don’t care how many calories these things pack. They’re just too damned good for it to matter. And none of that sugary shit. I want my pretzel with big ol’ fat grains of salt all over it. Bring it.
5. Photoshop. I use this on a daily basis, for work and personal use alike. I’m no expert, but I’ve done my fair share of photo editing and illustration in my day. Those of you who use it know exactly why I’m singing its praises. Shit is AWESOME. You can take a totally crappy picture and fix it up. I always make sure to cover up blemishes and shine on people’s faces in photos. I never go too overboard with it (you don’t want the person to look freakish or not like themselves), but it’s great to be able to fix those little imperfections so you have a nice looking photograph. Also, the Pioneer Woman has some SUH-WEET Photoshop actions you can download. “Boost” is a gift from heaven.
6. Puppies. If you don’t like puppies, you have no soul and should probably leave my blog now. I don’t think I want to know you.(from CuteOverload.com)
7. Pulp Fiction. This is one of my favorite movies of all time. It’s so quotable. Most memorable scenes include: Vincent (John Travolta) accidentally shooting that guy’s head off, the infamous dance scene (I can’t check to see if that is a good video or not since I’m at work and YouTube is blocked, so I’m just gonna trust Google), the scene where Jules (Samuel L. Jackson) has the wallet that says “Bad Mother Fucker” on it, the Christopher Walken watch-stuck-up-my ass scene, Jules’ monologue about “laying vengeance upon thee”, the Mia Wallace drug overdose scene . . . I mean, I could go on and on. But I won’t. But I do watch Pulp Fiction pretty much every time it comes on television.
8. Playlists. I love making playlists for EVERYTHING. When I’m working out, when I’m cooking, when I feel like singing, when I feel like DANCING, when I feel like hating men, when I’m feeling sullen, when I feel like chicken tonight (again, at work—can’t check the link) . . . I just love having music to fit my mood. Life’s better with music. Try to disagree with me. (Yes, I actually do have a playlist called “I Feel Like Chicken Tonight.”)
9. Porch Sittin’. In my area of the South, it’s sunny and warm about 632 days of the year (I might be making that figure up) and I love sittin’ (not sitting) on the porch and knocking back a few twelve ouncers while the sun sets and that gentle breeze brushes my skin. Relaxation at its finest.
10. Peen. Duh. I’ve you’ve been reading this blog for more than five minutes you know what a nymphomaniac I am. I can’t get enough of the sausage. You know what I’m talking about—that sweet man meat.

All images were stolen from various sources, so sorry if I stole one of yours. Remember, if you want to participate, tell me in the comments and I’ll assign you a letter.

Just call me a fun-sucker, I guess.

You’ve probably noticed I’ve tried to refrain from bitching about BE. Reasons being, I’m sure you’re all tired of hearing about it and many of you think I’m a foolish woman for continuing to see him.

I’m not disagreeing with you.

So here I am to bitch about BE again.

If you follow me on Twitter, you’ve probably noticed I’ve been complaining about my lack of sex. It’s been almost a week and a half since our last bump ‘n grind, and while I know that is not an extremely long time, my body is telling me HOLY HELL I NEED THE SAUSAGE AND I NEED IT NOW. Since we didn’t have sex this weekend, as our plans to spend Saturday night together changed due to the Incredible Shitting Man, I have been anxious to get back between the sheets with BE.

It started Sunday night. I called BE around 8:00 p.m. to see if he wanted to ‘hang out.’ He didn’t answer.

He called me the next night around 9:00 p.m. He explained that he’d fallen asleep on the couch the night before and didn’t wake up until 11:45 that night. A perfectly reasonable excuse, as sleeping is one of BE’s favorite pastimes. I knew since I was getting the phone call after 9:00 that there was no chance for sex, as he had to go to bed early for work the next day.

Last night (Tuesday), I made some delicious turkey chili in my slow cooker, so I called around 6:15 to ask him if he wanted to come over and have some with me, in hopes of bedding him later that night. Here’s how the conversation went.

BE: What’s up?
Me: Whatcha doing?
BE: Just got done working out.
Me: Oh. What are you about to do?
BE: Well, I’ve got to drop by a couple people’s houses, and . . . that’s about it.
Me: Oh. Well, I made some chili and I just wanted to see if you wanted to come eat some.
BE: Well actually, my brother’s in town, and we’re going to eat with the family. But I certainly appreciate it.
Me: OK then.
BE: Hey, can I call you back later?
Me: Yeah, bye.
BE: Bye.

First of all, why the eff didn’t he just say that in the first place? It felt like he was hiding something from me. “I’ve got to drop by a couple people’s houses.” What the fuck? Did he think I was going to try to invite myself to eat dinner with his family? I most certainly would not have.

When he asks what I’m doing, I always just SAY WHAT I AM DOING. Be it, watching a movie, hanging out with Claire, shaving my armpits, or plotting sweet, hairy revenge on a co-worker.

Also, is he ashamed of me? Does he not want to introduce me to his brother, for whatever reason?

When he pulls unneccessary crap like this, my immature side comes out in my brain and I think, well next time he asks what I’M doing, I’m just going to say, “I’ve got to go to a few people’s houses.” But I know that is a CHILDISH GAME and it will NOT solve anything. But I just get SO FRUSTRATED. What is so hard about being truthful?

BE, if you’re not going to admit that we’re dating, and if you won’t clear an hour from your entire week to bang my drum slowly, then DO NOT GET JEALOUS WHEN I TALK TO OTHER MEN.

You want me to stick around? THEN ACT LIKE YOU GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ME.

He called back at 9:30 last night. I didn’t answer. He left a message.

Hey, I’m just headed home, getting ready to hang it up for the night. Call me back later. Bye.

I was having one of my hormonally-charged raging bitch moods last night, and when I heard that message I said out loud, “I’M HANGING IT UP FIRST. ASSHOLE.”

Of course, that was just the result of a little too much Cabernet Sauvignon and frustration that had been building for three hours. So I went to bed early and slept off my aggravation.

This morning, I asked Andy what he thought. He was equally confused, but he did offer this little nugget of wisdom.

You’re not looking to suck the fun out of his life… you just want to do crap with him.Guys… we have a tendency to think that women are trying to suck the fun out of everything.

Is this true? Do all men think this? Please, enlighten me.

You don’t want to be That Guy. Trust me, you REALLY don’t.

Well, my weekend was quite, er, interesting.

Yeah, we’ll go with that.

Despite a Friday night annoyance involving BE still refusing to just GOD DAMNED ADMIT THAT YES WE ARE DATING, SHIT (seriously, what the fuck is up with that?), we had a really, really good time together.

Saturday night was a wedding for my friend Sandra (I had to make up three pseudonyms for this post because I really didn’t want a whole post saying FRIEND GETTING MARRIED, FRIEND GETTING MARRIED’S BROTHER, and FRIEND GETTING MARRIED’S BROTHER’S WIFE, so I went to a fake name generator, and the first name generated was Sandra’s ACTUAL name, of course—and I’m not completely thrilled with the results of the fake name generator because I really don’t think Sandra suits her), in which BE was asked at the last minute to usher. Seriously, they were so unorganized. They weren’t even going to have a rehearsal dinner until someone talked them into it. So we got there early so BE could usher, and somehow I got delegated to videotape the wedding. I was pretty nervous about it because I’m one of those people who, when given responsibilities from people important to her, wants to do a REALLY good job. I didn’t want people to watch this video later and go, “Wow, LRC really BLOWS at videotaping. I feel like I’m watching The Blair Witch Project.” That would just not be cool with me.

But it turned out pretty well, despite the numerous smart-assed comments from BE, who was standing RIGHT NEXT TO ME when I was taping. Every once in a while on the video you’ll hear a BE-ism, which, I think, only adds to the greatness of the video. The video camera belonged to Sandra’s brother, Doug, and his wife Ramona, and they’re good friends with BE so they think it’s funny.

OKAY, PSEUDONYMS ARE IN PLACE.

Sandra = my friend whose wedding we went to
Doug = Sandra’s brother, also BE’s best friend, the friend that told him it was Not Okay To Date Me several years ago but now I guess he is okay with it since I’m not with Murray anymore
Ramona = Doug’s wife

Got it?

Good.

The wedding itself was beautiful. I took my co-worker’s fancy expensive camera from work (I walked into his office on Friday to get a Coke Zero from his fridge, and left with a Coke Zero and over $2,000 worth of camera equipment. Score.), and it was WAY nicer than the wedding photographer’s camera. I took a few photos, but once they cut the lights down I kinda hung it up. I ABHOR using the flash. HATE IT. So I didn’t get as many pictures as I wanted to, so that sucks.

BUT, I did get a rare photo of me and BE without his hat on. He is growing his hair out because his aunt has cancer and he wants to give his hair to her for a wig (OMG SO SWEET I KNOW). When he was running around freaking out before the wedding trying to get ready in time because oh really now I have to usher? Thanks a fucking lot for telling me in advance!, he got his first blowout. It was pretty funny, one of our friends styled his (BEAUTIFUL, SHINY, BETTER LOOKING THAN MINE) shoulder-length hair with a blowdryer and a round brush, and it was so cute because he kept saying, “Does it look womanly? Is it too poufy?” I assured him he looked very much like the stud that he is, and he quit freaking out after a while. I seriously have never seen him so concerned with his appearance so that was amusing.

My parents were in attendance. I always have a great time with them, but I usually have about seventeen STFU moments with my Dad where I just want to go hide in a corner because, oh my God, the embarrassment. My Mom ended up getting kinda tipsy, and once when I was outside smoking with BE she came and tapped on the window and gestured at her second helping of meatballs enthusiastically, as if they were a treasure to behold.

So later in the evening the people that remained all headed up to a nearby bar, and our plan was to stay in Doug and Ramona’s hotel room that night. So we stopped by the room before heading up to the bar, and Doug was TRASHED. He was slapping everyone’s asses (including mine, ouch) and just being a drunken idiot in general. But everyone just kinda shrugged it off at this point because hey, his little sister just got married.

So we head up to the bar, and after a while Doug and Ramona go back to the hotel room to go to bed. They told us to come by when we were ready to go to bed. BE and I ended up hanging out with another couple that we’re friends with, who also had a hotel room.

So when we’re ready to go to bed, we head to Doug and Ramona’s room. I notice a giant pile of shit outside their door, and it STUNK to high heavens. I just assumed a dog had come and shat on their front stoop, so I made no mention of it. We knocked on the door, and Ramona opened it. She said, “Just a minute,” and her tone was so angry that you would have thought she was spitting daggers. We figured she and Doug must have had an argument, so we walked to the parking lot to smoke and give her some time to do whatever she needed to do.

A few minutes later Ramona opened the door and said, “OK, y’all come in.”

We walked in, and the inside of the room smelled just as bad as the outside. At first BE thought that Doug had been throwing up.

No.

Doug SHAT on himself.

He got so drunk, he SHAT himself.

And yes, he SHAT OUTSIDE THE DOOR OF THEIR HOTEL ROOM.

THAT WAS HUMAN FECES MERELY INCHES AWAY FROM THEIR DOOR.

Yeah, I know.

IS THAT NOT THE MOST DISGUSTING THING EVER?

Joking aside, Ramona was PISSED, as she should have been. She said that she understood everything going on with his and Sandra’s dad (he has cancer and probably won’t be here very much longer—seriously, why does everyone have cancer? That shit is NOT COOL), but that doesn’t give him an excuse to get so drunk he SHITS ON THE FRONT STOOP OF HIS HOTEL ROOM. She went on to say that she was tired of him getting so drunk all the time and that she was seriously considering taking their little girl and straight up leaving Doug’s ass.

So, BE stepped up to the plate and demonstrated Awesome Friend Skills that I knew he had, but I’d never actually seen in action. He suggested that HE stay in the hotel room with Doug, and that Ramona and I go home. He said, “It’s going to take you (Ramona) not being here in the morning to illustrate to him just how badly he’s fucked up. Don’t worry, I’ll give him a good talking-to in the morning and things will be different tomorrow. I’m going to tell him what you said about taking your baby and leaving him and maybe I can convince him to quit drinking. Then y’all can go home and sleep and I’ll try to air out this stink-hole.”

Then BE went into the bathroom, grabbed Doug’s shitty drawers, and threw them out into the woods.

THAT IS FRIENDSHIP RIGHT THERE.

(Today BE told me that this morning he told Doug, “I hope you didn’t have your name written in the back of your underwear!”)

Marital problems aside, that is some funny shit right there. No pun intended.

So this morning BE and I had some good laughs at Doug’s expense. I’m pretty certain they worked things out, but that story is one for the history books right there.

Not spending the night together last night threw off our fornication schedule, though, so I was ultra horny tonight, and BE didn’t answer the phone when I called. BOO. Oh well, maybe we can actually squeeze some WEEKNIGHT SEX in this week.

I really, really hope your weekend involved far less feces ‘incidents’ than mine.

Because really, one is enough.

Remember, we’re all in this alone*

At times when I’m feeling particularly lonely, in lieu of my iPod or a CD, I will listen to the radio. The reason for this is kind of idiosyncratic. I do this because if I choose something to listen to on my iPod, I don’t feel “connected” to anyone, anywhere. If I turn on the radio, I know that a multitude of people are listening to that very song at that very same time. And it makes me feel less alone.

Weird, huh?

This reminds me of a fantasy (well, it’s not really a fantasy. A fantasy would involve cheesecake, Keith Urban, and many, many spankings) I have every once in a blue moon. I imagine myself driving along, minding my own business, and stopping at a red light. All of a sudden, a great song I have not heard in years comes on the radio. I crank the speakers and begin singing and bopping along. I look to my right, and the person in the car next to me is listening to the same radio station, doing the exact same thing as I am. We each notice what the other is doing, and laugh and wave

This person may or may not be my future husband.

And he may or may not look like Clive Owen.

But I digress.

Also when I’m feeling lonely, I will opt for the city route to and from work rather than the back roads, just so I can feel more CONNECTED. To actual PEOPLE. Wow, this is making me sound really desperate.

I don’t know where all this loneliness crap is coming from. Usually, I am a very independent person. This newfound loneliness? I do not like it. I wish for it to go away.

—–

On an unrelated note, Aunt Flo came through town this week. HALLELUJAH. I was seriously worried there for a couple weeks. Adam and I had been having “relations” almost every day, and we had a little prophylactic mishap that had us extremely worried. So yay for that.

—–

On yet another unrelated note, this is making me giggle this morning.

Happy Friday, everyone! Have a wonderful weekend!

*Quote from Lily Tomlin