I have decided that my last post about my cat was me cheating. I lied to you all. I'm only 4 days into this thing and I'm already lying to you. How can I expect to ever break out of my writer's constipation if I'm lying and cheating? What the fuck is wrong with me? Like, seriously. It's like lying to a therapist. It's like lying to Jesus that Santa Claus stole your cookies on the eve of his birth and expecting Jesus to take your side over that of a fat carnivorous man in a red suit.
When I told the S.O. about the topic of this blog, his eagerness to help out was almost alarming. His enthusiasm for some things makes me think on some occasions that he is most likely an alien. Like, pigeons. Pigeons are totally aliens. Have YOU ever seen a pigeon nest??? I rest my case. Anyway, the S.O. helped out with this, because he rules so hard (as opposed to soft? O.o)
- You say stupid, incoherent, grammatically incorrect things like, "I got spider-bit in my pant area," and other classics.
- You get Christmas and/or Thank You cards from the local high school varsity football team.
- People call you by different names.
- You're often mistaken for Amy Winehouse.
You bathe in public fountains.
You have a shopping cart. It's named Bruce.
- When you wake up (where-ever you are) there is loose coinage sprinkled around you. Also, feeling like P-Diddy.
- You know the doctor at your free clinic on a first-name basis.
You insist upon wearing garish red clown-lipstick everywhere you go.
- Your arm-pit hair is in cornrows because "people are kinky like that."
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