It's been some long days in Kawaguchi san's neighborhood, y'all. I find that I have been so preoccupied with random things that it's hard for me to form coherent strung together (as opposed to strung out) thoughts to make a funny blog. I make a blog, you make a blog, and we will all blog together (Yes, you insert bad singing here) . I picked up this little gem at the 100 yen store just this afternoon, and I thought, "HEE!" This is motherfucking awesome! Am I the only one laying with my head in the gutter? For those of you who think this is a regular handkerchief, for shame! The Japanese women carry these around EVERYWHERE, they use them to wipe brows, dry hands, carry lunches, and just about anything else those innovative people think of. Can you imagine this gem in the hands of some little school girl (yes perverts, Britney Spearish Catholic school girl uniform included! No need to buy your own, and no assembly required!) ? Although, judging from the link over at Ookii ne , (And sweet green peas on triscuits, if you are repressed or at work which are kind of both the same to me, don't watch this!) , we Americans are the only ones who are sexually stunted ( Tatu: De plane, de plane! Get it? Tatu: Sexy "bi" girls, aww...forget it. Have no idea where I was going with that.) . Ahem. That reminds me...
Of the time I took my cousin's girlfriend up to the strip club MINTs in Canada just over the border from the Rez. Jumpin' jiminy I was em-bare-assed. (I AM on a roll tonight, aren't I?) Long story short, Tracy (and yes, that is her real name! She doesn't know me anymore, so it doesn't count!) wanted to sit at the champagne tables. For those of y'all not in the know, those are the ones RIGHT UP FRONT. Where if you lean in too close you risk getting hit in the face with flailing (and what better word is there for it, really? I am totally whispering and spelling this out) P.E.N.I.S.E.S. Maybe then I won't get all those google searches for ho's and cunts and the like. And I completely thought a hit was a hit until I got that military whore hit yesterday. Crack addict, anyone? And here it is! Probably the only damn thing TSS (my ex husband) did that I thought was funny: He used to tap his two fingers against the inside of his elbow (duh! forearm!), against the vein, and say, "I gotta get me some of that!" like some sort of harried drug addict. Come to think of it, he did a pretty good imitation, and he was nuts. I'm just sayin' y'all. My point being, that pissed me off, just in case y'all didn't catch on by that half (half?! Who the hell am I kidding?) inebriated rant. (Shh! I AM the girl who uses big words in a vain attempt to sound smarter) Oh. Flailing penises. So Tracy and I sit at that table, and I can't even face the damn stage until I've had about four SUPERFULL glasses of the bubbly. When I finally turn around, there's some little hottie up there shakin' his stuff fully dressed to "Mission Impossible". Then he just ran off stage and Tracy yells, "HE BETTER COME BACK OUT HERE AND TAKE THAT SHIT OFF!" while I frantically tried to crawl under the table. By the way? Oily boys with Fabio hair in g-strings sticking their butts in my face while taking that other girl's drink order? Not sexy. I thought it was just the greasy potato chips that were making me feel mildy nauseated, but in retrospect, maybe not. And you KNOW I was shoving those motherfuckers in my mouth just as fast as the waiters could bring them so that any time some one would ask if I wanted a lap dance I could just motion to my mouth (Oh dear lord. I just realized that this is probably the stupidest thing I can do in a strip club. Ever. Especially since it was dark in there and they probably couldn't see that the mouth motion to meant that I.WAS.EATING. and therefore nothankyoucouldn'tpossiblyenjoyyougrindingyourunmentionablesnearmyfacialvicinity. Damn! So many degrees! So little brains!) and show them that I was digesting, so was therefore hindered from *ahem* interacting with them. Right? Right? Long story short. Tom Cruised (As in, the ladies were cruising him! Yes! I am a teacher! I have to spell out the painfully obvious! It's! A! BAD! HABIT!) took it all off and did naked upside down handstand push ups. Did I tell y'all this already? Some little itty part of me (So you KNOW we're not talking about my ass) thinks that I did. That's what you get. I got three words for you: TRAUM. A. TIZED. Which reminds me....
I TOTALLY (Like, oh my god, like! Yeah, fuck you. GRR. And have no doubt, I am baring my teeth) ran into Tom Cruised and Oily Fabio while I was at work at Jack Astor's . I was in training, and seating people. Ahhh. WAITRESSING. The job of hungry, horny young men and women everywhere. They like you to look "presentable", so there I was standing in some ridiculous ankle length navy blue dress with tiny pink flowers that I only usually wear to church smiling my ass off when these two walked by. And stopped, and looked at me. They walked off, had a conversation, which I am sure consisted of three and four syllable words and came back to me.
TC and OF: Hello, do you have any seats available?
TCWH: *ping ping* smile. Why yes! We do! Can I just get your...
TC and OF: Well, actually we don't want to sit down. Don't we know you from somewhere?
What I wanted to say: TCWH: Yes, you do. Last time I saw you (motioning nonchalantly to TC) YOUR penis was swinging mere inches my face to the haunting strains of 'Mission Impossible' and YOUR (motioning airly to OF) ASS was in my face for a great duration of the evening while you pranced around serving drinks. Now what is it EXACTLY that you two wanted?
What I actually said: TCWH: Yes! I saw you at MINTS! You were naked! Doing handstand pushups! (insert maniacal and immature giggling here) and you got me drunk! On champagne! I love champagne! It has bubbles! (continue giggling here)
Those fools asked me and my friend Lacey on a date. Where's the fun in that, really? I've seen your stuff. I know how you do it, because I watched you dry hump (seems to be lots of talk of this in my life these days) as many girls as you could fit in during the time span of "Every Rose has its Thorn" on a queen size bed with white linens under a black light (Tres Classy! Tres Chic! this joint is, hunh?)before you gave her a quote unquote silk rose. And I know that shit is POLY!ESTER! So I did what any self respecting girl would do.