I feel like I always start with, "it's been crazy this week," or "work has been stressful." So, I'll just say, life has been the usual. I am adjusting to my new reduced group of girls at work and focusing on the chaos. Sometimes that is good, sometimes bad. The Boot Bitches have, however, been keeping in touch on The Facebook in group conversations. We have been discussing the crucial stuff, you know, did we wear pink on Wednesday, like we are supposed to? Who got cookies served to them at work? Who in the office is still lucky I haven't killed them yet? Who's moving, who tried to have sex after working out, who may or may not have bedazzled their vajayjay? To be clear, that last one was not one of us, it is clear speculation on our part about someone else. Somehow, we talk about sex quite a bit. I don't know how it happened, but we have kind of become Sex in the City...but our version is more like Sex While Being Watched By A Kitty. I mean, it isn't like we never talked about it before, but hosting that one Pure Romance party and pretty much any walls that may have been up, are now down.
Tonight is no exception. I shared with the girls the other night about what happens when you work out at the gym after a long hiatus from doing so and then your man decides "it's on" after weeks of inactivity. What happens is what I call geriatric sex. There were no Cowboys and Indians adventures, it was strictly, "my hip isn't going to do that" and "oh crap I have a charlie horse!" That conversation has been run into the ground, but now we have new fodder because someone outside the fold shared an experience about getting a Brazilian wax today. The Boot Bitches are pretty much in agreement that we are not a fan of hot wax down there, nor do we see a reason for our back doors to be ripped free of whatever may be back there. First of all, unless my poop is getting stuck in my furry butt like a Persian cat, I see no reason to even go back there. As far as I know, my exit is free and clear and requires no clear cutting. I mean, I can't see back there, but I am confident I do not need waxing there. I mean, I'd know. Right? All girls are in agreement that back doors are for exit only. There is some suspicion in the group that at least one of the group may be lying. If she is, that's okay, no judgement here. One Eyebrow Betty says that she doesn't know what Ambien Betty does, but that she thinks she is a freak (when she takes Ambien (sleeping pill), things happen that she doesn't remember). Zumba Barbie is curiously quiet during part of the conversation, so we really don't know what is going on there. Top Knot Pony seems to deny all responsibility from any activity and we are all concerned that she has gone the way of a soccer Mom or showing early signs of "Basic Bitch." Fluffy Haired Hugger has finally joined the conversation, but it appears she has to go to bed early and alone, so not sure what she will be able to offer to the conversation tonight. She is usually the one that offers the most detail and content. Something is amiss.... Valerina is laid up, due to injury. We can't really pin point the origin of the injury, but the group has some suspicions. She is the matriarch of the group, we all strive to live such a life, well, except Top Knot Pony, she pretty much has made it known she'd rather play Grand Theft Auto than Cowboys and Indians.
Anyway, we have pretty much exhausted the discussion of why it is necessary to have a vagina that mirrors that of a toddler and how we mow our own lawns, but now we have moved on to the fact that smoking pot may actually enhance sex. One member, who shall remain anonymous, says that sex while you are high is THE BEST. I suspect if I were to get Shark Bait high, he would want to to to Taco Bell, eat a bag of Doritos and then pass out. No worries for us since that isn't really our thing. Really, the way to my heart is if Shark Bait were to play the music the Ice Cream Man plays in his truck full of treats...that's hot. I know, sick.
I think if I really compare the group to Sex in the City, Valerina and Fluffy Haired Hugger would be Samantha, Zumba Barbie would be Carrie, I think One Eyebrow Betty and Myself would be Charlotte and Top Knott Pony would be Miranda. We are all strong women in our own rights, who really, have no sharing boundaries. I think Top Knot Pony might have been a little more reserved, but I think she's coming out of her shell. She may not be ready to look someone in the eye who she knows bedazzled her vajayjay, but she'll get there.
These conversations may seem adolescent or vulgar to some, but when I consider what happens in any given day, it is an innocent enough way to laugh away the absurdity of daily events. All I hear all day is "Cassondra, I need this, Cassondra do you have that, Cassondra do you know, Cassondra when you get a chance..." Add in a little, "hey, there's a clog in stall three..." and people that cannot read my not so subtle death glare that screams, "eat shit and die...right after you leave my area..." and yeah, I need an adult beverage and a funny story about someones bald vagina and how some crazy woman went to school to become the woman that is going to wax a whole bunch of people's assholes. I don't want to hear about that woman's day. I can't imagine. Spackling starfish all day and then risking being clobbered in the head with someone's foot, that's gotta suck. Making women and men scream when you rip hair off their genitals...still trying to figure out who has the better job. I mean, when those people go home at the end of the day, how much do they have to drink or smoke to make those images go away? What if you rip something off? Like, oh sorry, that flap of skin was clearly more attached than I thought. Do you just hand them their used wax strip with half of their wiener on it and say, this one is on the house? If some woman wants you to use a cookie cutter to make a perfect heart and wax around that, do you have to do that? I mean, where do you draw the line? I don't want that kind of responsibility. You think I'm joking, I used to know a gal that told me she shaved her hair in the shape of a heart. Hey, I like unicorns and horses, but you aren't going to see a pony down there. Who cares? Shark Bait? No. And, if I did have something really cool shaved down there, I'd want to show people. I don't think the Boot Bitches are ready for that. I know they love me, but we have to draw the line somewhere. Right? I mean, there is a line? Or....isn't there? We should discuss this further.
So, that's it in a nutshell (no pun intended). This is tonight's blog about nothing while drinking a Mike's Hard Lemonade and talking to my Boot Bitches. Thanks, Girls. I heart you. Just not a heart on my vagina...like let's just envision I held my hands up and formed a heart with my hands and then pointed at you. Like that kind of heart.
That's really all I have to say about that.
Tonight is no exception. I shared with the girls the other night about what happens when you work out at the gym after a long hiatus from doing so and then your man decides "it's on" after weeks of inactivity. What happens is what I call geriatric sex. There were no Cowboys and Indians adventures, it was strictly, "my hip isn't going to do that" and "oh crap I have a charlie horse!" That conversation has been run into the ground, but now we have new fodder because someone outside the fold shared an experience about getting a Brazilian wax today. The Boot Bitches are pretty much in agreement that we are not a fan of hot wax down there, nor do we see a reason for our back doors to be ripped free of whatever may be back there. First of all, unless my poop is getting stuck in my furry butt like a Persian cat, I see no reason to even go back there. As far as I know, my exit is free and clear and requires no clear cutting. I mean, I can't see back there, but I am confident I do not need waxing there. I mean, I'd know. Right? All girls are in agreement that back doors are for exit only. There is some suspicion in the group that at least one of the group may be lying. If she is, that's okay, no judgement here. One Eyebrow Betty says that she doesn't know what Ambien Betty does, but that she thinks she is a freak (when she takes Ambien (sleeping pill), things happen that she doesn't remember). Zumba Barbie is curiously quiet during part of the conversation, so we really don't know what is going on there. Top Knot Pony seems to deny all responsibility from any activity and we are all concerned that she has gone the way of a soccer Mom or showing early signs of "Basic Bitch." Fluffy Haired Hugger has finally joined the conversation, but it appears she has to go to bed early and alone, so not sure what she will be able to offer to the conversation tonight. She is usually the one that offers the most detail and content. Something is amiss.... Valerina is laid up, due to injury. We can't really pin point the origin of the injury, but the group has some suspicions. She is the matriarch of the group, we all strive to live such a life, well, except Top Knot Pony, she pretty much has made it known she'd rather play Grand Theft Auto than Cowboys and Indians.
Anyway, we have pretty much exhausted the discussion of why it is necessary to have a vagina that mirrors that of a toddler and how we mow our own lawns, but now we have moved on to the fact that smoking pot may actually enhance sex. One member, who shall remain anonymous, says that sex while you are high is THE BEST. I suspect if I were to get Shark Bait high, he would want to to to Taco Bell, eat a bag of Doritos and then pass out. No worries for us since that isn't really our thing. Really, the way to my heart is if Shark Bait were to play the music the Ice Cream Man plays in his truck full of treats...that's hot. I know, sick.
I think if I really compare the group to Sex in the City, Valerina and Fluffy Haired Hugger would be Samantha, Zumba Barbie would be Carrie, I think One Eyebrow Betty and Myself would be Charlotte and Top Knott Pony would be Miranda. We are all strong women in our own rights, who really, have no sharing boundaries. I think Top Knot Pony might have been a little more reserved, but I think she's coming out of her shell. She may not be ready to look someone in the eye who she knows bedazzled her vajayjay, but she'll get there.
These conversations may seem adolescent or vulgar to some, but when I consider what happens in any given day, it is an innocent enough way to laugh away the absurdity of daily events. All I hear all day is "Cassondra, I need this, Cassondra do you have that, Cassondra do you know, Cassondra when you get a chance..." Add in a little, "hey, there's a clog in stall three..." and people that cannot read my not so subtle death glare that screams, "eat shit and die...right after you leave my area..." and yeah, I need an adult beverage and a funny story about someones bald vagina and how some crazy woman went to school to become the woman that is going to wax a whole bunch of people's assholes. I don't want to hear about that woman's day. I can't imagine. Spackling starfish all day and then risking being clobbered in the head with someone's foot, that's gotta suck. Making women and men scream when you rip hair off their genitals...still trying to figure out who has the better job. I mean, when those people go home at the end of the day, how much do they have to drink or smoke to make those images go away? What if you rip something off? Like, oh sorry, that flap of skin was clearly more attached than I thought. Do you just hand them their used wax strip with half of their wiener on it and say, this one is on the house? If some woman wants you to use a cookie cutter to make a perfect heart and wax around that, do you have to do that? I mean, where do you draw the line? I don't want that kind of responsibility. You think I'm joking, I used to know a gal that told me she shaved her hair in the shape of a heart. Hey, I like unicorns and horses, but you aren't going to see a pony down there. Who cares? Shark Bait? No. And, if I did have something really cool shaved down there, I'd want to show people. I don't think the Boot Bitches are ready for that. I know they love me, but we have to draw the line somewhere. Right? I mean, there is a line? Or....isn't there? We should discuss this further.
So, that's it in a nutshell (no pun intended). This is tonight's blog about nothing while drinking a Mike's Hard Lemonade and talking to my Boot Bitches. Thanks, Girls. I heart you. Just not a heart on my vagina...like let's just envision I held my hands up and formed a heart with my hands and then pointed at you. Like that kind of heart.
That's really all I have to say about that.
No comments:
Post a Comment