I had a plan… a dream, really… I was going to jump on here and write you all an inaugural post filled with poignancy, brilliance, and all of the gore and glory that has been my life in the last two years since I stopped blogging.
Thing about dreams?
With the exception of the banana/dragon one that we all have during pregnancy and that really really graphic one that involves David Beckham and an appropriately placed swing, you forget all of the great details before noon.
And it’s totally noon somewhere.
Else I would have thought twice about tipping that bottle of whiskey in my coffee cup a moment ago.
So instead of brilliance and poignancy… You, dear reader, are getting a list.
A post-divorce and all of these fish smell grossly of fish kind of list…
‘Cause bitches love lists.
So without further delay and to kick this site off with a proper dose of mediocrity and familiarity, I give you:
The Five Reasons You and I Can No Longer Be Friends (Appropriately Subtitled: Why you’ll never ever get to see my lady parts (again))
1. Is that a quad venti nonfat iced latte in your hand or are you just happy to see me?
Oh! Hai! Is that your impatient knock on my door? A rap-tap-tapping that wasn’t preceded by a quick phone call or a text or a freaking message written in the sky announcing that you will be dropping by unannounced? At 8 am. Before I’ve even contemplated breathing? Sure… I may have mentioned at some point or another that I don’t put on pants before noon (unless absolutely necessary)… but the fact that you construed that information as an invitation to drop by and see me in my pantless glory as opposed to the random trivia (in case there was a test later) that it was, totally pisses me off.
Pantless is one thing. Pantless with no make-up and not so much as a swipe of Colgate is another.
Deal with it.
And you didn’t even bring me coffee.
You suck. I hope you burn in hell.
2. Dinner was great, and your theories on communism were interesting to say the least…
This is my favorite restaurant… so glad we came! And we have similar tastes in movies, music, politics, and child-rearing… AWESOME. And, yes, I would love another vodka and tonic. Thank you so much for paying attention to my drink level! Your efforts at keeping me appropriately liquored up are going neither unnoticed nor unappreciated. And the first time you called me ‘cute’ really did make me almost blush (Granted, the fifth time you called me ‘cute’ grated on my nerves something horrible… but I’m chalking that up to you being younger than I and not yet wise enough to know that grown-ass women (or those who play them on tv) don’t necessarily find ‘cute’ to be a compliment…). But all and all, this has been a lovely date and you smell awfully nice…
What was that?
Did you honestly just offer to come home with me and make me “feel good”?
3. I don’t think that means what you think it means…
Who are you? How did you get this number? Why are you texting me? AND, FOR CRAP’S SAKE, WHEN DID USING VOWELS BECOME SO OVERRATED??? L8R.
4. Talking books is SEXY AS ALL HELL.
Why, yes… I do enjoy reading… What’s my favorite book, you ask? It’s… Oh sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you, go ahead… Lol, no, I won’t find you less masculine for enjoying romance novels, it’s kinda hot… Ummm… no… I haven’t read that one… Oh, no, I’ve heard of it… No, it’s not that, I totally enjoy a good bondage tale, as a matter of fact… No, I’m not being pruddish, far from it, this one time at band camp… DUDE, calm the hell down, the subject matter isn’t my issue, I’m a rather fun girl… Yes, I’ve tried that, I’m a grown woman… Yes, I know the appeal of a pair of handcuffs… WHAT I DON’T LIKE IS POOR SENTENCE STRUCTURE!… What’s poor sentence structure? Is that what you just asked? Yeah… ummm… on second thought, I HATE books and bondage creeps me out and I’m re-virginizing myself and moving to Alaska, and they’ve got terrible cell reception there so…
5. I just met you, and this is crazy…
But you forgot to take off your ring. And facebook said that your wife just had a baby.
I am soooooo telling….
P.S. Missed you darlings like crazy.