I’m going to go ahead and assume whomever decided to advertise sweaty as sexy, was a fucking asshole. I don’t know about you, but I am not an attractive sweater. These FHM model bitches are either freaks of nature, or actually indoors just covered in oil with a green screen of a beach behind them.
I do love the summer, and sure, for the first few seconds in the hot sun, I’ll glisten, but one second later- liquid mustache. Then I get all patchy, my painted-on face starts to melt revealing the zits I was picking at last night. My hair either frizzes or collects so much sweat that it begins to curl and stick to my face. Soon enough, I start praying to be in a Nestea commercial.
I can only imagine how turned on you must be right now.
On top of avoiding the heat, I’ve also been fighting some sort of cold. It’s lasted too long, so, like a proper hypochondriac, I skipped WebMD and went straight to Wikipedia. Not to my surprise, it turns out- I am Benjamin Button.
After a coughing spree turned into an asthma attack, my fiance concluded that he will say his last goodbye’s to me before “putting me down”. I nerdily shook my puffer, inhaling back to consciousness, then hit him in the balls and said “you first”. This turned into one of those are we really keeping straight faces during this type of conversation. Yes, that’s a type.
He asked me how I wanted to “go”, and I told him I’ve always thought it would be by getting shot in the gut. He didn’t really react- I just assume he wasn’t surprised. I do say a lot of weird shit. In my head it would be when I’m really old, but I’ll look really young- since I’ve decided to be delusional from the age of 21. Because I don’t currently have any gang affiliations or enemies I know about, I figure it would be a drive-by shooting. I would put on my gold loops one day and someone would mistake me for a mob bosses wife, then boom. Gone. Painless but not instant, since I don’t want to be one of those ghosts that doesn’t know they’re dead. You know what I’m talking about. Don’t pretend you don’t believe in ghosts.
So the topic for today is choosing your fate. If you could go out any way, where or when, what would you choose? (I picture myself saying that sentence in a Dracula accent- the v’s instead of w’s give it much more of an impact.)
My choice- being shot. My fiances choice- drugs. For someone who has never done drugs or even smoked a cigarette in his life, this one shocked me. But he made a good argument: one last thrill.
So I told him we could trade-off. When I turn 100 (he, 110), I’d add his Friday pills to his Monday box. He’d start flailing around while cleaning his shotgun shouting, “Phyllis!” (My name is Phyllis in this scenario). I would come very slowly to his rescue with my walker, and when I get close enough- he’ll lose consciousness and pull the trigger. We both TKO. Teamwork.
tag-teaming – Congrats to the U.S Supreme Court for dramatically advancing gay rights this week and striking down the ridiculous Defense of Marriage Act! You’re one step closer to normal. (If you’re also a news nerd- Check out the wicked article in the Wall Street Journal. http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424127887324520904578553500028771488.html )
Dear Kanye and Kim, now I understand your baby name choice- You were just supporting gay marriage! North is a beautiful (*Cough cough* instant lesbian) name.
Happy Pride Week! Line it up high! Stay dry and sexy, world 😉