Oly went out to the bars last night. I went with him. He nearly got molested by a stinky, slobbery guy who scared me but I think Oly dug his stench. He’s like that; we can’t pass by the bums passed out on the street without Oly getting frantically excited and pulling me over for a voracious sniff.
Oly has a good nose. He knows when mama (me) has been hitting the IPA a little too heavy because he knows he can get away with sleeping on the bed without getting in trouble. I feel a little betrayed when I wake up bleary-eyed and near-dead and he’s on the bed, all spread out, looking like the Queen of Sheeba if the Queen of Sheeba had big, crooked hairless balls. He doesn’t even bothered acting embarrassed that he’s breaking all the rules.
I also went climbing over the weekend. That is me, looking red and hivey (from eating peanuts, and YES, I do know I’m allergic, and NO, I don’t know why I thought that was a good idea). Seattle summers are absurdly short and it takes a lot of flaking out on people and essentially not being in town any weekends to get in your yearly quota of outdoor stuff. This also means we do our heavy drinking during the week. This is never a good idea.
Point in case: today. I am a useless fuck. The only thing that got me out of bed this morning (aside from my mother calling me and the sight of Oly’s nasty hairless balls) was a giant bowl of pho–Bun Bo Hue, to be exact (well, as exact as I can be without adding the appropriate diactritics to the name). I spent the day… looking at pictures and realizing that someone I went to high school with but didn’t know that well is a hella cool dude.
Also, I looked at my blog stats. I am grateful that my brain is deadened today because… people are SICK fuckers, man. Shee-it. So, with Word Press, you can check which search terms people are using (on google, for example) to get to your blog. Suffice to say, I have NEVER written about… uh, “white mold meat,” “popping his balls,” and “mastabotory [sic] futility.”
Also, apparently, people are REALLY curious about pee holes, particularly women’s pee holes. (I can’t emphasize this enough; every day at least a few people visit my blog through some misguided quest for the glory of the female pee-hole.) One of my favorite queries was “are vaginas and peeholes separate.” Though I’ve admitted to a certain… ignorance in these pages before, I do realize that the females bits and peices work a little differently from the pecker. (An aside: my cousin, Gilly, is trying to sell his swank condo and totally ran off a perspective buyer by saying “What, are you on fucking drugs, you fucking peckerhead?” I guess the offer wasn’t sweet enough.)
There was also “beach hard on,” and because that didn’t generate enough quality hits, “beach ‘hard on’” so google couldn’t possibly mistake the searcher’s perverted intentions. ”Dancing hard ons” made a cameo appearance, as did “Mongolian dogs,” “Colombia,” and “funny stick sex.” I was disturbed by “mature fucking,” “mature rub,” and “balls inside body” but to each their own, eh? But still… MY blog?? Also, Maggie did a little leg work for me and googled “white meat mold” and informed me that my blog comes up as a hit on page 25 (!!!), so whoever was researching that got to me after wading through 25 pages of search results. That, my friends, is fucking weird.
In other news, Oly managed to cram my nipple in his nostril as I got out of the shower the other day. That was awkward and the poor pup didn’t understand why I was so snappy with him. He gets very excited whenever he sees me, even if it’s only been two or three minutes and runs full speed into whatever part of me he can. He is totally without grace (and often runs into walls, falls over, eats shit, and generally emulates my way of interacting with gravity) but he means well.
I have an extra vertabrae (I discovered this last year when I went in for xrays after falling out of that stupid tree). I get all my sex ed information from my post-soccer game drinking binges. (Trampolining and mammaquatia are proud new additions to my vocabulary!) Everything else right now is too advanced for my feeble mind.
Hangovers are like dying of a preventable disease. I’m off to go do it all over again.
Imagine peeing these out your weenie…
