I checked my site stats today and noticed that my blog has been viewed precisely 19,107 times. The more I thought about this, the more it floored me. It almost seems as though people like reading about my histrionic thoughts and the reactions people have from them. While there are many bloggers that have far exceeded the 19,107 mark, I must admit that this number far exceeded any expectations I may have had concerning the reading of my writings. Since 19,107 is a perfectly beautiful un-even number, ( if you recall, I detest even numbers) I have decided to compose today’s post in honor of my growing popularity. Since you all clearly don’t know every intimate detail of me, it is time to feed your curiosity, and talk about my favorite subject- ME!!!!
When I was young, I became bored quite easily, which resulted in my favorite saying being, “I’m huuuungrrrrrryyyyy!” Instead of redirecting my focus on something productive, my parents fed me to shut me up, therefore contributing to the fact that I can now eat more than the inhabitants of a third-world country in one sitting. Before my stomach was sufficiently stretched out to do such, I would eat continuously until it all came back up. The most vivid memory of this happening is the time we went camping when I was 9, and I ate 3 hotdogs and an entire bag of marshmallows that had been sizzled to perfection over the campfire. After laying myself to rest for the night in my camper bed that was above my parents, I proceeded to regurgitate my healthful dinner over the side of my mattress, therefore creating a lovely splatter pattern of upchucked hotdogs and marshmallows in the tiny camper. The resulting odor was wretched enough that thereafter I refused to sleep in said camper.
I was not always so fashionably inclined. In fact, when I was 15, I had two friends who were sisters who were quite vocal about my choices in granny shoes. This was around 1997, when chunky Spice Girl heels were in style. My two concerned friends brought me to the mall intent in ridding me of my antiquated loafers. They inticed me with a pair of black Mary-Janish chunky heels embroidered with flowers. (It was the flowers that caught my eye- I hated the chunkiness) After forcing my feet into the offending shoes, a sort-of spell came over me, and my feet have never been perfectly happy ever since unless they’ve been sporting a lovely pair of heels. Sadly, my first pair of heels lasted less than a year because I wore them incessantly.
I may have mentioned in the past that I grew up going to a Baptist school and church. This resulted in every church service, chapel, basketball tournament, and music competition ending with a message imploring the unsaved to step forward and receive Jesus Christ. While I clearly recall my acceptance of God at a very young age, the constant mentioning of going to hell and having doubts about your salvation did, in fact, create doubts in my mind. Therefore, I am proud to annouce that I have accepted and re-accepted Jesus as my Saviour exactly 7 times. Yay me. He’ll probably send me straight to Hell anyway. Or at least give me a stern talking to before I enter the Pearly Gates.
There have been only two occassions when a stranger has bought me a drink. The first, I was at a hole-in-the-wall bar with my ex-husband (my boyfriend at the time) and his friend. Suddenly, a beautifully free drink was placed in front of me, compliments of the creepy dude who was ogling my cleavage at the end of the bar. What possessed him to buy me a drink when I obviously had my boyfriend in tow is beyond me, but I must say that you have to admire his balls. (Not literally)
The second time I was gifted with alcohol was at another hole-in-the-wall bar I used to frequent with my friend for karaoke night. It happened to be fishing opener weekend, and we were the only two gals in the joint. I went up to procure us libations, only to end up commenting on a rather plastered individual’s t-shirt. The tipsy man introduced himself as Ebner (which I exclaimed was an excellent name) and proceeded to buy me and my friend a drink. While Ebner was a surprisingly nice sir, the conversation was short-lived, since he was drunk and we wanted to sing. I will always be grateful that a man named Ebner saved me $3.50.
I suppose at some point you will be expecting a sex story. I would be expecting a sex story from me too. I shall try not to disappoint.
Hmmm, I’m thinking.
OK, I got it.
The first attempt I made at having the sex was on a 100 degree night when I didn’t have air-conditioning. While my partner was 7 years older than I, he had no more experience than I did. While no actual sex took place, a near-fisting did occur. That’s all I have to say about that.
Thank you for making my blog 19,107 views popular. I loves you all and hope you don’t get sick of me anytime soon. XOXO
Sparklebumpsthebookwhore 