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Apologies Are In Order

22 Jan

I think I may be the neighbor from hell. I don’t throw raucous parties, or drive like one of those douchebag Audi owners through the parking lot. I pick up other people’s trash, and have even been known to say hi when I’m not daydreaming about almond croissants.

Despite my best efforts to be a decent member of society, some apologies to current and former neighbors are definitely in order.

To the neighbor who saw me topless:

Your expression really said it all. It was a mixture of pity, lust and confusion. Coincidentally, that was the same look I once gave to my reflection after eating an entire Little Caesar’s pizza by myself. I’m sure you had no idea that breasts could double as suspenders, or have so many stretch marks that it looks like there’s a freeway system tattooed on them. The truth is, puberty was not kind to me, and my breasts are now registered weapons in nine states. I guess I should’ve rushed to cover myself up, but I was pretty sure it was the last opportunity I’d ever have to show my chesticles to a man, and I had to soak it up. I’m sorry if this has stirred up a weird fetish, and your future wife finds you searching for “low-hanging tits” on the internet one day.

saggy breasts, meme, boobs, chesticles, stretch marks

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Vag of Dishonor

2 Nov

It’s no secret that I embarrass myself on a regular basis. I’ve farted in a trainer’s face, a woman once congratulated me on my diarrhea, and I even confessed to taking a dump in an empty Porta Potty. Needless to say, I spend the majority of my time and energy trying to see if a person can actually die of humiliation.

Something else that people know about me is that I love to hike. I love the smell of the mountain air. I love the view at the top. I love being one of those annoying people on Facebook who posts dozens of photos to prove that her ass hasn’t yet melded with her couch.

"America's Funniest Home Videos, fuck yeah."

“Come on Maury, hurry up. I need to know if he’s the father.”

I had been wanting to do one particular trail in the Columbia River Gorge, and finally managed to get out there a few weeks ago. Most hikes have bathrooms at their trail heads, but once you’re out there, you’re on your own. Continue reading

Wax On, Wax Off

18 Sep

I have never made a secret of the fact that I hate dating. I don’t take any joy in the dressing up, the flirting, the awkward first date conversation. The thought of having to dip my toe back into the dating pool is less appealing than getting a rectal exam from Edward Scissorhands.

Just as many women are, I am riddled with insecurities. My thighs are too wide, my nose is too big, and I am sure that my breasts and waistline are slowly trying to become one entity. I look at men’s magazines and see what men want. I’m just not the kind of girl who looks good frolicking in a string bikini at sunset.

One of the things I hate most about dating is the “maintenance” associated with it. We’ve got to keep our skin clear, our hair nicely coiffed, and mostly importantly, our body hair to a minimum. As someone whose mustache could grow to impede my ability to breathe through my nostrils, this is no easy feat.

The most torturous of our follicle upkeep is the bikini wax. I have a pretty high threshold, but even I cannot help but wince at the idea of hot wax being ripped from my chicken mcnugget.

At one point in my life I was much more of a masochist, and kept my Virginia Woolf in check with the use of a waxer. The girl I went to at the time was amazing, but as with all great beauticians, they eventually become overbooked. I consulted the internet, and found a woman who had a slick website, and great rates. Continue reading

The Great Escape

8 Aug

I am a fairly vigilant person, and take precautions against the world’s dangers. I have locks on my windows. I don’t give out personal information over the phone. I make sure to shower with my clothes on so that if I slip and die, the paramedics won’t have to look at my naked body.

I love to hike, and there is an inherent risk in being in the wilderness. Falling from great heights, changing course and getting lost, and wild animals that think your flesh tastes better than a Jack In The Box taco.

The woods also seem to attract homicidal maniacs. There are no shortage of films highlighting this fact:

High altitudes make people cray cray.

So it’s not surprising that I’m extra careful when I venture out into the forest. Sunblock? Check. Epi pen? Check. Water? Check. Not that any of this will help me avoid a murderous sociopath, but it’s nice to avoid sunburns, fatal allergic reactions, and dehydration. Continue reading

The Baby Quiche Debacle

1 Jul

There’s something about a dare that I absolutely love. I blame my parents who enrolled me in a variety of sports programs when I was younger, fostering my unhealthy sense of competition.

  • “I dare you to press your bare butt cheeks against the car window as we drive down the freeway.”
  • “I bet you can’t eat a whole ghost pepper.”
  • “Are you brave enough to take the Bing It On challenge?”

Let’s just say that I would have rocked The Hunger Games.

Challenge_accepted

Katniss Shmatniss

Unfortunately, not every dare ends well. As any betting man will tell you, you’ll win some, and you’ll lose some. It should come as no surprise that most stories of my failure involved excessive consumption of alcohol. Continue reading

Why I Won’t Join a Gym

17 May

Before the existence of 24 Hour Fitness, Gold’s Gym, or Curves, there was this little place called “outside” that people frequented. Membership to this exclusive studio featured oxygen, scenery, and convenient access no matter where on Earth you were. You could get it all for zero dollars a month, and zero dollars in sign-up fees. If you brought a friend, you could both work out for the price of one!

I refuse to join a gym. I think it’s a racket to overcharge people to do what they could do for free, and I don’t enjoy letting strangers see my body jiggling well after I’ve stopped moving. Other reasons I hate fitness factories:

  • Having to wipe off someone else’s swamp ass from the equipment
  • Possibility of catching a foot fungus in the shower, forcing me to remove one of my toes, and become off-balance for the rest of my life
  • Witnessing guys staring at themselves in the mirror while lifting weights
  • Looking like Gollum on the treadmill while the girl with the full face of makeup next to me barely breaks a sweat
  • Watching people Facebook “gettin’ my workout on!” while bicycling slower than a sleepy toddler on a tricycle
  • Hearing the kind of grunting that should only come from women in labor
  • Feeling embarrassed for that one guy who thinks it’s okay for dudes to use elliptical machines
  • Smelling “Hansel & Gretel” body odor, the trail of stinky destruction left by a member as he/she travels around the machines

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Deuces Wild

24 Nov

NaNoWriNO Day 24

Topic: Colon Hydrotherapy

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I  decided to take a much-needed vacation from a former (writing) stomping ground, and to my surprise, my absence did not go unnoticed. When I got back I had e-mails, notes in the Newsroom, and offline messages on Yahoo Messenger asking where I had been. Many theories were tossed around. Had I finally been institutionalized? Did I run off with the men of Thunder Down Under? Had I suffered a major brain freeze from a Slurpee-gone-wrong? Another writer threw out the possibility that a poo expert on the site (yes, we had one) had kidnapped me, and performed massive amounts of crap extraction on my colon.

Luckily, I was safe from harm, but an idea was sparked. Not having any shame, or ladylike tendencies for that matter, I resolved to leave my fecal matter in the hands of a perfect stranger. I began to research the process of Colon Hydrotherapy, its benefits, and reputable places where it could be performed. I decided on a place near my work, and made an appointment with a woman named Irina for the next week.

I tossed and turned at night over the next few days. Visions of Sugar Turds danced in my head. I could not believe I was willing to part with something that was such a fundamental part of me. I began to wonder who this woman was, and why I was going to allow this professional stool stealer to take what was rightfully mine away from me. I blamed her flashy website, something that had gotten me in to trouble many times before. This is exactly how I became a lifelong member of the Shannon Doherty fan club.

The morning of the appointment I was a nervous wreck. I could hear faint cries coming from my colon, begging me to reconsider my hasty decision. I drank away my sorrows at the local Starbucks, and decided to be strong. I had made my decision, and I did not care what my poop thought about it! Continue reading

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