Month: February 2013

fireballs

i’ve eaten six red hot atomic fireballs today. what, you say? so what? well, there’s an art to eating them! it’s not just about popping it into your mouth. at first it fools you into thinking you’re going to have a rather “sweet” but cinnamon-y experience, but in just a few seconds, that cinnamon flavor turns into fire in your mouth. hurry up, suck away. c’mon, you can do it! suck that red coating right off and get yourself to that sugary, chalky white ball and quick! crunch down and destroy!!!

repeat all of the above and have another!

zxcS

galentine’s day…

today’s valentine’s day.  this really bothered me when i was a single gal. all i could think about was all those cozy happy couples kissing and cooing in a dark romantic restaurant while feeding each other and playing footsie under the table.  i used to think ‘I’M SUCH A LOSER AND NOBODY WANTS TO FEED ME AND PLAY WITH MY FEET’! i spent most valentine’s days with my girlfriends, hence GALENTINE’S day.

now a married gal, valentine’s day is a crock. it just seems silly. it feels forced. we don’t need a cold day in february to make us feel like playing footsie. i’m really not into feet, his or mine.  the feeding part is fun though…no actually, just the eating part is fun. i hope he gets me a huge box of chocolate, but i’d like to feed myself . i can eat more that way. choc

it’s that time again…

holy girl scout cookie! those 0bnoxious trefoils are calling my name, can you hear it? it’s hard to hear over the loud screams of the thin mints for which i eat by the sleeve. what are those little girl scouts trying to prove? if all they want is another badge on their sash, i’d gladly buy them one, but these cookies are the death of me! hang on a sec…the do-si-dos are knocking on my door. Girlscout Cookies

i gotta come clean…

it’s been awhile since my last post and i have a confession.  okay, here goes: i gained 10 lbs. i know, you’re not shocked. truthfully, it’s really none of your beeswax, but i’ve been so honest up until this point, so i had to spill my guts…plus, the button on my pants is being such a bitch. it’s basically blackmailing me into my truth telling. who does it think it is? Damn you, button on my pants! quit your moaning and complaining because if you don’t, i’m going to get my trusty needle and thread and move you over a little! believe me,  i’ll do it and i can’t promise that i won’t stab you by accident!

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