N I’s tipsy, y’all. Warm tipsy. Toasty tipsy. With numb, swollen lips still sweet from the Coca-Cola. Don’t you know every soft drink/soda is a Coke in the south. I once had a class in which a guy who yelled, “They aren’t all fucking Coke! Sprite is not a Coke!” He’s right, of course, but I still call everything Coke.
Drinks taste different when they’re made with fountain soda. They aren’t as sweet. Have you ever had an amaretto and Coke? Tastes just like cherry coke with a little extra zip that lets you know your cheeks will be rosy when it’s all said and done. And, the best…oh! An amaretto-Coke-float. Total dessert-booze orgasm…in my mouth.
I was thinking about that guy with the chainsaw. Oh wait, I tweeted that. Yeah, so on my way home from work, I saw this guy walking along the side of the road who was carrying a chainsaw. He looked pissed, and it made me think about the time that a bunch of my former friends got schmammered on New Year’s and decided to go out an cut some firewood with a chainsaw. Not so bright. 180 stitches later, and yelling at the nurses and doctors to screw them and give me some fucking pain killers I don’t care if I’m drunk, we hauled that brilliant asshole home. I hope that guy wasn’t going to kill anyone.
This would be a whole lot funnier if I didn’t go back and fix my spelling errors. They are insane. It’s like I never took typing. My ring fingers refuse to cooperate. I wonder how many times I type teh instead of the. I’d probably be a world record holder if I kept track.
The cat is staring at me. Oh, now he just scampered away. Must’ve been the look I gave him. After all these years, he knows not to bother me when I’m drunk. I have a tendency to pick him up and squeeze him, like I do most people, but without picking them up.
Why doesn’t Tumblr recognize “must’ve”? Tsk. Tsk.
I’ve been thinking about posting a picture, not anything where you could see my face, but something fun. I have this gold evening gown that makes me feel like a princess, and I tried it on today just to see if it fit. And it does, even if it is tight in the chest. I put in on, looked in the mirror, and laughed. Doesn’t every girl want to be a princess at some point?
I always wanted to be a queen. I had this pink bathrobe my grandmother gave me that I pretended was a gown, and I would tie a sheet around my neck, like little boys do when they pretend to be Superman, but I was a super queen. I put on my star-tipped antenna headband and a pair of my mother’s heels and ruled my world.
I loved that bathrobe. I went through a phase where I absolutely believed that snakes crawled out from under my bed every night and coated the floor of my bedroom. Every night, I refused to drink anything after seven o’clock so I wouldn’t have to get up and pee, and I covered my head with that pink bathrobe. It was my shield.
After I saw Friday the Thirteenth, I was terrified it was Jason hiding under my bed. My mother started making me drink water at night because I was getting so dehydrated, and she got me a Superman night light so I wouldn’t be scared of the dark bathroom and so I wouldn’t turn the light on and wake my dad. After a few weeks, I got over the snakes, but then I noticed that the light from our bug zapper shined in through the back porch door just so that it hit the wall and banister and made a PERFECT machete on the wall right by the bathroom. I used to cover my face with the bathrobe and run to the bathroom.
One night, I slammed into my father as he stood fiddling with the thermostat, and he said, “What the hell are you doing?”
“It’s a machete,” I whimpered as I pointed at the beam.
“Yeah, it is, isn’t it? I never noticed.”
The next day, he moved the bug zapper, and that was the first time I really believed that my daddy loved me. I think I always knew my mom loved me, and I figured out how much my brother loved me when he let me play Sega with him. I was all about some Streets of Rage. Kebato! And I used to watch him play Mike Tyson’s Punch Out. Every Sunday, we’d get a plate of carrots and a bowl of ranch dressing and veg out and play Mario 3 (still the best imo). I’ve got an emulator now, but it’s not the same. It’s not the same as wasting an entire day fighting over who got to use the ‘Nooki suit. We look a lot alike, which only means that I would be incredibly cute as a boy.
Whelp…my teeth feel like they have socks on them, and I haven’t even smoked pot. My tongue is furry, and I have an overwhelming urge to hop in the shower and pleasure myself in as many ways as a woman can without a man present. So, on that cheery note, adieu!