Fucked Up

It has come to my attention that a certain reader believes me to be a man. (Despite the fact that I posted a picture of myself) Because the male species is considerably inferior to the female (Sorry, boys. It’s not your fault. We don’t have penises to distract us) this information is quite disturbing to me. I realize the content of my blog is NOT what you would find daily on another woman’s blog, however, that is the thrill, is it not?

In all honesty, I believe there are many women out there who think the same way I do, they are just afraid to say whatever is on their mind, for various reasons. I consider myself to be the one to speak for odd and fucked up women everywhere. “Well-behaved women rarely make history”, or so I’ve heard, so if indeed I am to be mentioned in the textbooks of the future, it seems I must continue to misbehave and speak my mind.

It was brought to my attention the fool-hardiness of posting a picture of myself and mentioning where I work. These days, there are many creepies and stalker-type people about. Having already encountered said creepies BEFORE ever having a blog, I must state that no creepies can disturb me as much as those I’ve already met. And so, if posting a picture of myself causes the Brotherhood of Creepies to stir, I say, “Come and get me, Creepies! But beware. My 5″ heels are deadly when worn on my powerfully-muscled legs!” At least I will have something to write about in my blog if they come.

I have been told that the woman who would write the shit I write is seriously fucked up; and that the person who writes this blog is not that woman. It seems you each will have to get out your Fucked Up Meter and measure the extent of my fucked-up-edness, or, if you wish me to save you a few minutes, you can just believe me when I say, “I am abso-fucking-lutely without a doubt completely and utterly fucked up.” There’s not a damn thing I can do about it, so I guess I’ll just go with the flow…

He Sees You When You’re Peeking…

Aright, so I am one of those people who should just be a cat, because I swear to God my curiousity is going to kill me one of these days. That and I hate surprises. Do you get where I’m going with this yet?

YES! OK? I PEEKED IN  THE GIANT SHINY BAG THAT WAS MARKED WITH MY NAME ON IT.

I can explain.

So on Wednesday

No. I must go further back.

When I was 6 or 7, (I’m sorry, I don’t remember the exact year because it was long long ago) I remember that at Christmas time, McDonald’s was selling stuffed Muppet Babies. I begged and begged my mom to buy me a Kermie, because he was just so cute and he handled Miss Piggy’s advances so well. So a few weeks before Christmas, I sequestered myself in my parent’s bedroom and dug through the closet, checking to see if a stuffed Kermit just for me resided therein. I found him and was completely thrilled beyond belief. Sadly, he ended up being a Christmas present for my cousin, and I have been jaded ever since. I suppose that should have been a lesson to me NOT to go poking around for presents.

Now we may come back to the future.

On Wednesday, when I arrived home from work in the wee hour of morning, I was pleasantly surprised to see a ginormous shiny gift bag sitting in front of our completely natural fiber-optic tree. I snuck over in the dark and was surprised to find that said bag was addressed to me. I say surprised, because my Rockstar has never found it necessary to buy me a gift for any reason since we have been… entangled.

Anyhoo, I tried to forget about it. I went to bed and didn’t dream of giant shiny gift bags, but in the morning, after my Rockstar went to work, the magical gift bag was calling out to me, whispering, “Sparklebumps, just one little peek! You know you want to…. It won’t hurt anything to look. Openmeopenmeopenme!”

I said to that bag, “NO! You cannot compel me!”

Just kidding.

I said to myself, “Self, I shall ONLY peek into the top of the bag.” My self didn’t listen.

But in my defense, the tape was not sticking on the wrapping paper.

So as I peered into the depths of the giant bag, I saw nothing.

Except a shiny-ly wrapped present that was coming unwrapped.

Let me ask you something.

Would YOU be able to resist?

Yeah. Exactly.

And so I said to myself, “Self, we will just stick our finger under the flap of paper that didn’t stick and see what we can see.”

My self really doesn’t listen to me very well.

We saw nothing, my self and I. Except a brown box that had little black writing on it.

Of course I had to see what the writing said. And so I just said, “Fuck it.” and opened the bag up wide and took the present out.

The man who has never bought me a gift spent $500+ on a bass guitar amp head so that I may plug in my beauteous purpley bass and rock out.

I don’t know what to say.

Except that the frickin’ tape didn’t hold very well when I put it back in the bag.

He knew I peeked.

Oops.

But he must really love me.