I'm sitting at work.
52 oz big gulp of coffee (you can ban soda all you want, prick ass Bloomberg, but dont you DARE limit my coffee cup sizes or there will be anarchy in the streets), some "I'm so hip my band name is a sentence" playing in the background. You know these bands. "John's brother is a mermaid." "Tina and the reindeer maniacs" "Sam went to the store and bought a pretzel". And everyone's all "oooh best name ever!!"
Anyhow, I digress.
So I'm sitting here thinking about what to possibly blog about. And looking back on my old posts. And all I have to say is "whew".
God damned I had a crazy life. lol
As of March 17th I am officially engaged.
*harlem shakes at my desk. but a real Harlem shake, not this new white shit.*
So anyhow, it's official. One penis for the rest of my life.
Damn fine one, but, that's it. LOL
After all the bitter ass, sad, crazy, random, remarkable relationships...I finally found my guy. The one.
But there have been a few things on my mind. A few things that have popped up this past week that are just annoying as fuck:
1. I dont understand why women are still trying to have sex with him. I believe that's the lowest form of a hoe.
At least wait until we've been married for a few years, and try to catch him after a fight. No one is having affair while
they're all deep in love and newly engaged. Get a clue. Get a hobby. Get some peanut butter and a cat.
Even if you do "win" and get him to fuck you, what's the prize for that? Some semen in the eye? The bottle of flavored vodka he brought over?
The false ego boost that your fat ass could "get" my man. Child. Please. I'mma say a prayer for you.
1a. I am keeping my facebook and my twitter with the following rules:
a. No talking about my titties.
b. No pictures of my titties.
c. No entertaining any man that would like to talk about my titties.
d. No entertaining any man in any way that would encourage him to talk about my titties.
...I think you get the drift lol.
2. I don't understand why my friends have disappeared. I got engaged, I didn't die.
I know that I can't be the crazy, stumbling around at 4am hot mess I was a few years back, but lets face it, that was NEVER a great look anyhow.
The only difference now is that I actually HAVE to trust one of you guys to drive me home safely, instead of calling in some reserve penis to rescue me from the bar.
That shouldn't effect you that much.
Bottom line, I still want to have fun. I still need women around me. I still need to talk about fashion, and drink martini's and discuss lipo and face lifts and real housewives of atlanta.
I need you.
3. Why do people immediately ask when the wedding is. Do you NOT know me? Shit. It took long enough just to get to this point. Let us just a coast a while.
I'm going to be 32 years old in a few weeks. There's not going to be any crazy 20k over the top wedding. My father doesn't need to "give me away" in the traditional sense.
Hell, I'll just be happy if he shows up. I've been long gone from his home lol.
I don't need 13 bridesmaids trying to fight over who will be the "maid of honor", and compete with each other to see who will shine as the most beautiful one, and get top choice of the groomsmen.
I don't need a caterer to charge $1,000 for some dry chicken and cold peas.
None of that. I doubt I'll even wear a full gown. A white bikini, and a hot beach sounds perfect. Little flower in my hair. Voila. Magic.
But, real talk, I am in love. I've been in love since that infamous night 2 years ago.
I'd thrown a "game night" in my apartment. We were playing taboo. There was a big ass bucket of jungle juice in my fridge and not enough people to finish it.
SO, I started calling people over.
Luckily, his name begins with an "A" and he was the first one called.
He came over, with his boys, with a cute little black sweater on, and I was instantly smitten.
He was the best taboo partner I ever had. And you know how hard they are to find.
So. Here were are. 2 years later.
Engaged, with a mountain of life issues that we've been through. And a lifetime of issues to come. Willing to work together, and blend our families, and make this shit work.
Til death do us part.
Or until we're 86 on the front porch in rocking chairs, and I just can't take his smart ass mouth anymore, and I trip him with his cane.
Whatever comes first.
I love you baby.
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