marriage

I notice the root of my way of thinking, my way of acting, my way in dealing with problems the longer I live here. Now, I have something to compare it to. I’m getting ready to apply for my husbands…

It’s no secret that my in-laws do not  like me. Why? I have no idea. I mean, I know I’m weird, but they hated me way before they had a chance to get to know me. Given the way that…

Last night we attended yet another marriage class brought to us by the Catholic church. I like the priest, because he’s really liberal and doesn’t have that attitude that I’m going to hell because I’m not religious. Anyhow, his lecture…

ME. “If we go to Thailand I get a butler, my own butler, it’s ethical and I would tip them a lot because I’m nice but I get a butler and it says they make you coffee in the morning and draw the drapes, so basically I can be like that ugly girl from Annie. And the butler will do “anything” according to the website so she can read me books and help me plan trips and I can name her butterfly!”

Fra. “You can’t name them.”

ME. “Who fucking says!? I can name her buttlerfly. Butterfly, please make some coffee. Butterfly, does this skirt make me look fat? It’s going to be the best time! We’re going to Thailand!”

As usual I made a huge ass of myself today in our one hour marriage class titled “The Family Crisis.” Actually, it happened before the class even started because I’m that good, but to my defense I’m not the one…

Once in a while I like to check my stats to see who is coming from where and how they ended up here. And, I have to say, I am really fucking sorry if you were searching for “public sex”…

My friend Chule (nclick-kool-ay), a badass South African told me to read a book titled, The 5 Love Languages. I was obviously scared, because “love” and “self help” generally mean “sappy” and “uncomfortable,” however I acquiesced because Chule is wise and…

Me: Honestly I’m not sure I want kids because what if one night I wake up and one of them is standing in the doorway all backlit and I have to wonder if it’s a zombie or not. Because in…

Because I’m Classy.

My mother told me that the first time I tried to run away I was nine months old. How can a baby run away at nine months old you might ask? Apparently I was like one of those babies in horror movies. The creepy ones that walk and talk and then attack someones face.