Okay everyone. I suppose it's been long enough. No longer can I bear to torment those of you who prefer frequenting my blog to having a life. While I can secretly curse and pity you, I know that it is your dependence on my bullshit that in turn nurtures me. And for that, I pity myself.
Thanks for the flurry of great comments. Well, for the most part. For some of you, the flurries indicate that shoveling is imminent.
So sorry for the delay. The truth is that I've been working so hard (almost as hard as it is for you to believe that I've been working at all), that I've had little energy for anything else. Mr. Happy is not even showing his usual signs of self-inflicted wear and tear. He's actually getting back that "new car back seat smell". THAT is just how LITTLE of an actual life I've been able to lead.
So let's get the weirdness train rollin', shall we?
4) I suffer from OCD and ADHD
(But thankfully, not VD or any other STDs, although I do use both TP and STP.)
That's right. There is a perpetual internal struggle (actually there's an awful lot of internal struggles) between these two opposing forces. Fortunately I'm only mildly afflicted. Unfortunately they don't cancel out. But fortunately they aren't dehabilitating.
Have you seen "Monk" yet? It's a show about a Private Investigator type (masterfully played by Tony Shalhoub), who suffers from an extreme case of OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). He can't function or move on if something appears amiss. This makes him a pain-in-the-ass, but his attention to the smallest details makes him an expert case cracker.
*** Additional weirdness bonus! For some bizarre reason, I want to "boink" Natalie (Monk's Assistant). Can I write "boink"? Why sure! One, because it's my damned blog and I can do what I want. Two, because Blogger cannot afford to lose a single blogger (what, with their ineptness and all). Three, because I really enjoy using the word "boink", and for some weird reason, haven't done so in all of my posts until now. Anyhoo, I find myself strangely enthralled with her blonde hair and tushie* (* another favorite word of late). ***
While I am not as gifted as Monk, nor do I have his extreme attention to detail, I also frequently have to stop what I'm doing to correct something that's out of place. Luckily, the OCD cannot keep my cajones in its sinister grip for long, because - not unlike "The Lone Ranger" - on cue ADHD comes riding in to my rescue.
5) As it turns out, I am quite the butt pug.
Not so quick on the trigger with those comments, mon amigos! I did NOT write "butt PLUG". I meant that only recently have I realized that women's tushies* (* See how I smoothly used "tushie" as a convenient segue device from "Weird Thing #4"? Take note, avid blogger wannabees) are what I truly notice when I'm evaluating women for the purpose for imagined sexual encounters. No longer do I simply settle for brief eye contact, or a sultry "excuse me", as the female is brushing past me toward a certain oblivion of souless sexual entanglement with someone who only appears more attractive than yours truly. I want more. I want to leave bite marks in patterns that crop circle hoaxers would envy on her heiny. I want to add to the tattoo on her lower back such that it traces my "Journey to the Center of HER Earth" in grandious fashion.
Sure, boobs are nice. For you can take solace in the knowledge that no matter how soft of a man you truly are, they are even softer. Provided that they are real. More real than you, perhaps.
There is great comfort in that. Also, boobs are the safe haven of mashed potatoes amidst the uncertain piece of rump roast that it intended to be your main entree. Will the flesh be tough? Or will it be as supple as a baby's bottom? Is Mad Cow disease no longer a threat? Or did this one slip past them (and you)?
And don't get me wrong. A nice set of legs (see EOTR's blog for a fine example) is a sweet sight indeed. But the strident nature of seeing them rapidly walking toward you can serve as an omen of bad tidings. Similar to the "Red skies at morrning, sailor take warning" adage, little buddies. Did you leave the toilet seat up? Did she spot you with a mermaid / barmaid last night? Of course, seeing them walking away is equally forboding (unless she's getting you a beer).
But in the end (get it?), I'll cling onto the female ass as my favorite body part. Even though it's not the most convenient one to store in the freezer.
Okay, I lied to you once again. I'm one short* (boy, if only I had a nickel for every time I've heard that one). Call this a cliffhanger. Call me a bastard. Just call me.
By Your Side...
2 hours ago