You've all missed me, haven't you. Well I'm sorry. I've been busy. It's not easy keeping this tight ship running. Sometimes it doesn't stay so tight. It loosens up and I have to go tighten it again. Sometimes with twisty ties, sometimes with string...and sometimes by running it through an extra cycle in the dryer. I'm not making sense.
I'm sensing you sense that.
I've met a boy. Not a boy that I've talked about. He's a new boy. And he's one of the main reasons I haven't had a moment to write in this here blog. I don't want to write about him though. I don't want to tell you anything. He's my secret. And as long as he's my secret...nothing can go wrong. Yes...I like fantasy worlds too.
So the outside world hasn't existed for a while. That's probably not a good thing since I'm sure there are things I should be doing. When are taxes due? Whatever...anyway, this is going to be a short post because even this sedated level of gushing is making me want to punch my own self in the ovaries. A counter-productive move, if I do say so myself.
Oh, and Laura and I did another Condicast but the sound quality was so poor...as was our comedic timing...that we scrapped it. That's only bad news for the 1/3 of you who could actually listen. The ... I got interrupted here and now have no idea what I was going to say. Shoot.
I just ate two thin mints. I love you, girl scout cookie manufacturers.
I'll post again when I'm less moonie. Maybe minus one less ovary.
12 keep(s) me blogging:
Worst blog post ever.
You started out strong, heading toward Girl Scout Cookieville, but then you derailed; I think somewhere near "I could have had a V8ville". Which is where everyone else is instead of reading your blog, I think.
What’s all this about keeping your new dude secret? Any good publicist will tell you that if you don’t tell your story, others will tell it for you. It’s true you know, and here’s the proof.
Title: My New Dude
By: Condi’s Hair
I stood in silence, transfixed by his browful stare and truncated legs. The tang of his unwashed burl kindled a burning flame deep within my frozen glands. At once nauseated and yet hungry for his attention, I kicked hard at his hindquarters and slapped him across the face. DAMN YOUR MIGHTY PECS, I screamed. Unable to quell those furious desires, I drew his sweaty kvetchenshelp close to my love-chapped lips and there in the tangled shadows of the darkened parsonage, Father Gherkin gave himself unto me, hook, line and then finally the sinker.
That is all I will tell you about my new dude, for you see, I intend to keep him a secret. What we do in the privacy of the church organ pit is between us, the organ lady, and her pet monkey, Fredrick von Shankenstien. Oh, and the night watchman, I forgot about him and I guess I have to include Earl, the hunchback and his ferrets and those two guys, I can’t remember their names and also…
Scent is crucial. If he likes the smell of your tea shirt after you've been running up and down the stairs it's a done deal. But run his name through the FBI computer before you commit. Don't let your ovaries rule your head.
Congrats on yer new find. I’m going to make some guesses here:
He prob wears Peter Sellers style glasses, has a beard or some 5 o’clock shadow, wears a lotta Puma, prob has a scooter, can imitate most European accents very well, says "cheers" a lot, feels compelled to comment when he hears the keywords “vintage” and “retro”, speaks and writes in 3rd person, has a job related to computers or the Internet, and is prob over 6 feet tall…because you dig being in “!” type relationships. I think I just described 33% of the U.S. male population in the 19-35 year old age demographic...okey, it's prob grown to 35% thanks to hipster music being played in midwest grocery and $1 dollar stores now.
devon - you know...sometimes you are SUCH a dick. it's too bad i likes ya.
future - ouch. harsh, lady.
slag - how would you feel about writing my blog part time? i could pay you in baked goods.
goranas - well...HE smells good. and he doesn't mind a nuzzle after i've ridden my bike across town...so...is that close enough?
ax - actually...he's pretty much the opposite of everything you listed. isn't that funny? i have NO idea what the fuck has happened.
Oh, so you're just going leave us to our imaginations? I can make up anything I want. I'm visualizing you tangled up with that guy from Reno 911! who wears the tight shorts, even as we speak. OK, now I'm gagging a little....
Secret boyfriends are why God gave us two ovaries: one for breeding and another for punching during ages 16-30. Kind of like "an heir and a spare" idea. I call my ovaries Wills and Harry. I find that Harry's been the one I need to punch the most.
The only part of that I caught was thin mints. I'd kill for a box of thin mints at this very moment. Better yet, I'll trade you an ovary for one. (Do they even do ovary transplants?)
Such a dick? WHAA? And here I thought my referrence to the comic book guy would be taken for what it was.. pure, unadulterated hilarity.
Is that even how you spell hilarity? Is that even an english word that would therefore need a correct spelling? I leave you with these great mysteries to ponder.
jill - boy are YOU wrong...i haven't even SEEN him in shorts yet. he actually dresses much better than i do, though that isn't saying much.
sam - i haven't named mine yet. i was gonna wait til i was 28. it seems like that's the optimum ovary naming age.
thinker - i know, dearie...you'll understand when you're older. and you've punched an ovary or two.
devina - oh i totally got your joke...it just didn't apply to this...therefore hilarity was replaced with dickishness. and yes...it's spelled h-i-l-a-r-i-t-y.
What? What? What? A boy????? Do tell...
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