So, I would ask you how your weekend was, but I'm really just asking you so that you'll ask me so I can tell you about it. Anyselfishbitchiness, I got pretty drunken Saturday night to the point of thinking I was cool and totally not going to be sick at 2 am when I went to bed except then I woke up at 5 am and ralphed for like ten minutes so that was fun. And, wouldn't you know it? I was unselfish enough to think to take a picture of me post-Pukefest '10, party of one. That's a grimace, by the way. Because puking sucks.
And hows about you stop staring at that ugly ass wallpaper that I haven't had a chance to cover yet. I see you. Moving on to the part in which I almost got killed...
Despite how my blog reads, I am typically a very nice person. Especially at work. Because I gots to keep that money flowing in, yaknowhwatimsayin'?
The other day at work, I was outside smoking a cigarette and reading a book (NOT a book from the "teen" section of the library because that would be so super embarassing, okay it was, stopjudgingme) when I saw a man I didn't recognize leaving my building.
Since I didn't know who he was, I probably held eye contact for one split second too long trying to figure out who he was.
MISTAKE NUMBER ONE, Y'ALL.
Because I kept eye contact for one split second too long (the longest fucking second of my life, by the way), the man thought I was up for some chatting.
"How are you doing today?" he asked me as he walked past. "Oh, I'm fine, how are you?" I replied.
MISTAKE NUMBER TWO.
Do not. I repeat DO. NOT. ask a creepy looking person how they're doing. Fucking end of your life.
He started talking about some stupid shit nonsense - I'm not really sure what because I started making my grocery list about ten seconds into the conversation. While I was debating whether or not Oreos really needed to be on the grocery list (they do, by the way), I noticed him pointing at the tattoo on my foot.
"I really like your tattoo. My daughter just got a tattoo."
"Oh, mhm, that's nice," I said, resembling one of those mothers in Walmart who is obviously not listening to their kid babble on and on. At this point, I started backing up slowly to the door, hoping to make a smooth escape. Unfortunately, Creepy McCreeperson did not pick up on that vibe.
"Yeah, I got a tattoo recently at Skin Works. It's pretty badass," he bragged as he stared at my non-existent chest.
(Aside: Seriously, y'all. If someone is looking at my boobs, they are obviously desperate. There's nothing there to look at, I promise. I'm like a prepubescent boy for Christ's sake.)
Then with no warning, he twirled around and TOOK. OFF. HIS. AFFLICTION. SHIRT. so I could see his tattoo.
A) Nastyassbackfat. (I had to type that all as one word because it's making me a little gaggy.) (Speaking of gaggy....) (Ok, no, I can't go into a blow jay joke while talking about this guy. Scratch that.) So, yeah. The back fat. Hawtandsexyy'all.
B) Who the FUCK takes their shirt completely off to show someone they don't even fucking know a tattoo? I mean, I know I'm weird, but seriously?
C) AFFLICTION. SHIRT. I don't think I have to explain this one.
D) The actual tattoo itself. Now I didn't snap a picture fast enough, but this is a pretty close replica of what the tattoo looked like:
A motherfucking wolf. Howling at a motherfucking moon. On his motherfucking back. My face turned red because I was trying so, so hard not to think of this:
(On a positive note, I'm pretty sure I just found Fiancee's birthday present.)
Anycreepywolftattoo, I was still backing up slowly towards the door the whole time Mr. McCreeperson was talking. Here are some of the conversation topics I was forced to listen to as I inched my way closer and closer to sweet, sweet relief:
1. He got hit by a train. No, really. He has a plate in his arm and everything. You probably think I'm a bitch now, but I think you must have forgotten.
2. He has a daughter who just started college. After telling me this, he says, "I know I don't look old enough to have a daughter in college," ::smug grin waiting for confirmation from scared & confused girl who just wants to get the fuck back to her desk:: (I did not give that confirmation, by the way.)
3. His marriage is on the rocks.
4. He hates Louisiana. (Yeah? Fuck you, too, asshole! We don't want you here anyways.)
After all these topics, I had finally inched my way to the door, opened it, and was standing with my body inside the office and my head peeking around the corner of the door still saying, "Mhm. Oh okay. Yeah, that's interesting. Mhm. I think I'm just gonna go in-- Oh, you don't say? Well, yes, it is hot today. Maybe because it's July in LOUISI-FUCKING-ANA?"
And the conversation pretty much went like that for another fifteen minutes.
I'm really not sure how I made it back to my desk. In between the second half of the conversation and getting to my desk, I'm pretty sure I blacked out just like the first time I ever got kissed because it was so horrible and awkward and during the movie Finding Nemo and I wanted to pretend it never happened because the only reason it happened was because the guy wouldn't stop fucking staring at me all creepy-like, and I'm pretty sure he was trying to figure out just exactly how he could murder me and I don't care that it was only 8th grade IT COULD HAPPEN, OKAY?
So yeah, I survived.
Also, if you didn't notice, I reached 100 followers the other day and FUCK YES, SEAFOOD DINNER! I really owe you guys one. Or two. Or two thousand because seafood is the shit.
So now I just need to figure out how to reward you guys (bowchicawowwow, ifyouknowwhatimsayin') via this little old blog here. And no one gave me ideas because you're as uncreative as me apparently. I would give something away, but I'm pretty sure you guys don't want any shit I have to offer. (Besides blow jays, but like I said -- I can't travel all over the country to give BJs okay?)
**I don't know how this next paragraph came to be. I'm pretty sure that being at work is making me delirious. You might want to skip over it because I don't think BabyJesus will like you being associated with me.
Don't get BJ confused because sometimes it stands for "blow jay" but other times it stands for "BabyJesus". It's really all in the context clues.
For instance, "My girlfriend is going to give me a BJ when I get home from work, yo." (I'm pretty sure that's how dudes talk when girls aren't around, right?) BJ stands for: Blow jay. You should have known that.
Next up, "Thank goodness BJ invented the internet." BJ stands for: BabyJesus. Everyone knows that the sweet BabyJesus invented the internet.
Next, "I can't wait for BJ time tonight!" You really have to be able to read the person on this one. If it's a dude, they're probably talking about blow jays. If it's a super religious creeper, they're probably referring to BabyJesus. Context clues, people, context clues!
**Okay, this crazy is over. Moving on.
So for reals though, I need to think of something to give you as a present AKA I need you to think of something and then I'll just pretend I thought of it because that's how the world works.
Oh, and I almost forgot to put on here that Fiancee has never read my blog before because he obviously doesn't love me enough. Except once he found out I had reached 100 followers, he wanted to check it out and "see why people care what you have to say".
After reading three posts, do you know what his response was as to whether or not I'm funny?
"I live this every single day, Sara."
So basically, he doesn't love me as much as you guys love me. That's what you got out of that, right?
*Also, every single time I'm watching a movie / tv show / commercial and one woman says to another woman, "Can I ask you a question?" I always expect them to say, "Do you ever get that not so fresh feeling?"
*So this is getting really long, but I need to know something, like, now. I emailed Heather and somehow, I mean, I'm not sure how, okay I brought up picking your nose in the car and she said she didn't do that so then I felt a little weird at least until she told me that she does it in bed and flicks them over on her husband's side of the bed and all is fair in love and war is what I always say.
So do you have that certain place you pick your nose? Because the car is my go-to spot for nose picking. Not when other people are in my car with me, though, duh. #donthate
Oh! And I got a new header. So ch-ch-ch-check it out.