What's the deal, ok? And no, I'm not speaking of the actual song and what it means but... old friends who weren't, that are now. That are now? Are we really? You don't have to lick my twat or cut my grass. No, those two aren't jokingly related. You really don't have to cut my grass. All it is is just a bunch of sand spur weeds. But you may weed eat it if you want. In the actual sense, I have a weedeater in storage right now. Ok, we're getting off topic.
Why can't we be friends, why can't we be friends, why can't we comment on each others Facebooks, ow!
Or should I say, "Are we really friends, are we really friends, are we really friends?"
Maybe I've had too much Typhoo tea and am soaring on a caffeine high 12 miles in the sky. Yeah, probably.
This is my first blog in a long time and it probably doesn't make too much sense to any of you. It may make sense to one or twenty-two of you but only if you've drank as much English tea as I have. A whole freaking pot. With real sugar. Yeah, I'm chalking it up to that.
So yeah, first blog in awhile and none of you have any idea what I'm talking about nor do you really care. I don't either, but I must in some stupid* way if I'm blogging about it. Whatever that is. Let me say this... "It's ok. I'm gay. I don't want'em anyway. So sit back, relax. Go ahead and take a Xanax." For recreational purposes because you have nothing to worry about.
Ahhh, you're saying to yourselves now. I may see where this is going. Maybe you do. Maybe not. If everyone else can write vague* messages on Facebook then I can write a vague* blog.
Ok, all vagueness gone. Let's get to the real shit. Still have the kid. One of the last times I wrote on this thing it was almost his first birthday. Now, it's almost his second birthday. Terrible two's are among us. Growth spurts as bad as weeds in your spring garden. He loves Caillou though when I showed him the French version of the theme song he looked at me like I had just stuck my thumb up his arse. Complete confusion and horror. Hilarious.
Let's see... I love my iPhone. Totally in love with it. That and instagr.am are the two best things on earth besides my son and the time I showed him the French version of the Caillou theme song. I guess you had to be there for that one and I promised you guys I wouldn't be one of those mommies. Onward soldiers... I may have a very limited budget but I've dedicated myself to sprucing up my wardrobe. It's high time I threw in some variables in there.
Speaking of, I cannot wait until the St. Andrew's Mardi Gras parade. One, I am going to charge for parking in my driveway. Two, I am too excited about the outfits I am putting together for the 2 days of Mardi Gras that good ole Historic St. Andrew's has a parade for. They aren't anything special and in fact, one outfit [friday's, the least significant day] is just an amalgamation of stuff that if I walked out of my house in New Orleans on the REAL Mardi Gras day most people would shout, "Hey, did you walk through your closet blind and pick that out?" I'm trying to say it really has no theme. Saturday's outfit I am trying my hardest to think of something good. I have several ideas but none of those will be revealed in the duration of my decision making. And the final product won't be known until the actual day I wear it. In public. In Panama City. Christians will probably be offended more by Friday's outfit than Saturday's. All in all someone will be offended by either one of them no matter what I wear.
* vague + stupid = same thing = annoying. JUST SAY IT, ASSHOLES! Though there is an exception to my vagueness in this blog. It may be stupid, but it is not near as annoying as when people do it on Facebook. Stop putting vague messages on your status! Why do you do it in the first place? To make people comment? And when they do; some of you still don't say what the hell it's about. It's like having a fixed gear bike. Gay. [just joking to my friends with fixed gear bikes. but only because you're my friends]
BUT! Speaking of fixed gear bikes... I live across the street from TEK Records and I saw this kid ride his fixed gear bike out of the record store and ride it 5 feet to his truck and then proceed to put it in the back of it. What? You couldn't bike it to the store? Maybe he just wanted to show it off. Whatever the case it is still funny thinking about him driving up, getting out, riding his widdle bikey 5 feet to the door of the store and then do it all over again when he left. Talking about fixed gear bikes made me think of Portlandia. I will have to blog about that next time. Because...
I have to bathe the kid and get him to bed.
Goodnight, jackof--ahem, dear readers.