B1: Also in my favorite Chuck high tops

Yesterday, I did not eat a single thing that was not fried.
Breakfast: Chick Fil A sandwich and fries
Lunch: Southwest eggrolls (and 2 Miller Lites)
Dinner: Fried shrimp po' boys, hush puppies, and fries.

Well, I guess the Peanut M&Ms I ate at the movies weren't fried. But I think you catch my (greasy) drift. I bet my co-worker would point his finger and accuse me of staging a fried coup against his great state.

Great State (Af)Fair

I just overheard a coworker make the statement that the astonishing array of fried food at the state fair is what gives Texas a bad name. Well, naturally. A culinary whim is the downfall of our great state’s reputation. A month long celebration of deep fried indulgence and vomit churning carnival rides are the reason Texas is flailing as a state. Our abstinence only sex education created by a pro-life contingent has led to a whole new generation of children, (not choices!), that should not have to face the daunting decision of fried Oreos or fried guacamole.

I can't lie to you people

My boobs look really good today. The black rocket bra really makes them look juicy and delicious. Well, they are juciy and delicious, but this thing really puts them up and out there. I keep looking down and them and getting excited that they are mine.
I will try to remember to take a pic and post it when I get home tonight. Then all of your computer screens are going to end up smudgy after you reach out and try to touch my peachy orbs.

B2: Too juicy for Corporate America

I got to my cubicle today and noticed something sticking out from under my keyboard. I pulled it out (heh) and thought it was a pay stub. I tore it open to check the amount, because around the last pay day I thought that my checking account seemed slimmer that usual. This was my chance to figure out why. Well, it was because my pay wasn't automatically deposited. I got a real check.
Hooray for cash surprises under your keyboard! Sometimes being too dumb and lazy to balance a check book or investigate suspiciously small pay days pays off.

B1: On the way to work today

Both of my elbows itched at the exact same time.

Conclusion (Following Internal Dialogue)

People suffering from great tragedy should be given respite from cause and effect. If God was all-knowing and fair, he would recognize those suffering and give them relief at least temporarily from the consequences of careless living.

2 hours 53 minutes of solitude

Wear an ice hat in your coffin, you never know where it will take you.
You twisted your steering wheel in the wrong direction, you stapled your doom to your forehead.
Wear an ice hat in your coffin, I think you know where you’ll need it.

3 more hours of solitude in the 'brary

Red kicked a limp bicycle tire left to rot on the side of the road. Being a kangaroo, he really had the ability to kick the shit out of stuff when he was mad. Damn that Marlene and her silky hair. Damn the heat that was melting his Peanut M&Ms in his backpack. Damn Frankie and his insistence that the lamp he had found in his garage was the funniest thing to throw at the next passing car. Red was certain of two things: he was grounded forever and he would kick the shit out of Frankie the next time he saw him.

Sigh sigh sigh

She drew hard on his flesh lollipop, pulling her mouth tight around the swollen, pink head. It was hard to ignore the clinking, tinkling sound of her dangling diamond earrings as she worked his throbbing bit hoping his impending orgasm would act as an eraser on his memory. Her violent jealous outbursts had to be balanced with the soft warmth of her mouth, otherwise she was nothing but a fountain of venoumous rage. Her cantaloupe breasts bounced with the violent rhythm of her passionate act, straining against the thin flesh stretched across the unnatural girth of her chest, just one of the beautiful gifts he had bought her that proved to be a great tool of distraction for them both.

B2: Plus a camisole means high and tight tits

I did find some adventure, in the form of leaving my purse at the bar. My enormous red purse containing my only car key and a copy of "A Beginner's Guide to Fellatio." If I had left it anywhere but Paddy Red's, I might have been slightly embarassed. However, that bar has seen me dissolve so much of my dignity in Jagermeister and whiskey that I felt nothing but extreme relief. A replacement car key for a Mini Cooper ain't cheap, especially when you are struggling to just make the monthly payment on the Mini Cooper.
In addition to losing my purse, I was able to steal some salt water taffy, get lost in an apartment building, and opt for the stairs over the elevator because I could not seem to get the elevator to work no matter how hard I concentrated on the buttons.
Thank the heavens for my friend Cole. He saved my weekend in so many ways. Not only did he manage to keep me upright physically, he kept me upright emotionally. A silly girl like myself is extremely luck to have a perfect boy like him around.

B1: Mo Money Mo Bitches

I have champagne and whiskey in the freezer awaiting my jubilant consumption. I predict adventure.

B1: I am growing a horn

As my grandmother loves to point out, I am far from normal. Sometimes I have to reluctantly agree. Exhibit 1: the growth on my forehead. If I were average, it would have developed a whitehead so that I could pop it (with glee) and it would begin the healing process. However, as so many people in the Metroplex and a few in the London area know, I was never issued an Average Citizen membership card. Or perhaps my Girl Scout leader never put in my application because she didn't like the way I flung hot glue like splatter paint. Whatever the case, my abnormality is materializing in a huge, red, quite sore knot on the left side of my forehead.

Mike Rowe's crotch has returned to Discovery Channel. Praise Jeebus.

August GQ

Just in case anyone is wondering, I did get the August issue of GQ Magazine. I am currently sitting on it and will sleep with it under my pillow for the next few weeks, or until it falls to pieces. Then I will tape selected pictures in my Dreaming Corner.

P1: Playing Corporate America

Today, my underwear match my shirt and my bra matches my shoes.

P1: Looking Luscious in Stripes

There is nothing like an empty bank account to inspire one to do some shopping. After much wandering around eBay searching for the perfect 80s party dress to lust after, I was reminded that not only are my tits unseasonably large in 2007, they would have been point-and-stare-she-should-be-bound-or-institutionalized-because-white-male-America-cannot-handle-hooters-that-hulking had I been lucky enough to be alive in my favorite era of fashion, the 1960s.
So, now my sizeable stature is slouching in my desk chair while I try to decide if the I will forever regard my behemoth build as an obstacle or find the strength to turn it into a power.
Apparently, this also makes me aspire for award-worthy alliteration. An astounding accolade, aiming at an admired assignment as America's Astounding Alliterator.

Brilliant Ruminations While Bored

Things chewing my nails has taught me:
Fingernail polish remover tastes like burning.
Streptococcus can thrive on free weights at the gym.

B1: Been busy drinking

I was drunk three nights this week and not once did my hooters lead me astray. Where is my trophy?