The Over-Educated Nympho

Since I feel guilty for not providing any giggles lately, here are links to some old posts:

Keep Your Happy Memories Away From My Soft Drink
Three-Quarters Out The Office Door
Look At Me Look At Me oh shit THEY’RE LOOKING AT ME!
and one of my all-time favorite posts

*if you want to know what inspired the random title of this post: for whatever bizarre reason, this song has been stuck in my head for the last hour. Hmph. I don’t need to be an Oscar Mayer wiener for everyone to be in love with me, silly boy. I can just take off my clothes instead.

I have a nasty temper. Like, screaming-and-throwing-things temper. No one knows that because it doesn’t come out often and when it does I keep that side very guarded. Even when I had roommates or a live-in boyfriend, no one saw that side of me. I pushed it so far in for years that I almost believed it didn’t exist.

Sometimes a person just needs to fucking lose it.

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Many readers have suggested it, and it’s always been in the back of my mind. Then tonight during the most ordinary of moments I came up with a fantastic idea for a tv show I want to write. It will be hysterical, honest, and real. Emphasis on real.

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I think my writing has kind of sucked lately. My beloved readers may not think so, but I do. It’s not what it should be. I know about all the posts I’ve started and left half-done. I know what was supposed to fill the blank on the days I don’t post. It’s not like I have some huge dramatic secret, it’s just–well, it’s all those things I don’t want to see on a screen in front of me, let alone be out there where I have to face them.

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I had a weird dream last night. Normally I dream about work, which in itself is weird but at least they never inspire a blog post first thing in the morning.

I dreamed that I was in a house somewhere with a couple other people from my everyday life. While I was in a bedroom reading, Handsome Nerd stumbled in without a shirt on.

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I have a pimple on my crotch. Ick. And I just got peanut butter all over my keyboard. Son of a bitch.

Those two things are unrelated. Really.

I know many people who have recently bought or are in the process of buying their first home. Coworkers, cousins, and now my friend Dr. Smartypants and her hubby. I helped them move from an apartment to their new house this weekend, which I can prove from the bruises on my legs (I DON’T KNOW how they got there, I’m just gifted in that way) and tremendously sore arms (have you been to the gun show? –flexes girly biceps–).

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Yeah yeah I know Valentine’s Day was two days ago and I didn’t blog anything. Well it just so happens that I was very busy on Valentine’s Day, aka National Singles Awareness Day. Those Girl Scout cookies don’t eat themselves, you know.

Today’s post is being done in the epistolary style of the lovely Miss Bridget Jones, which have previously been very popular here and here.

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Over the weekend I worked on my book of blog posts that I first proposed here. Yep, it’s happening. I’ve got a whole journal full of coffee-stained notes, bursting with ideas that will hopefully take me beyond the simple title of blowjob queen.

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In dishonor of Valentine’s Day, I am making a series of National Singles Awareness Day cards that can be printed and given to your person of choice. This one can be given to pretty much anyone, single or coupled, male or female, friend or ho.

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In honor of National Singles Awareness Day, I have made a card that can be printed and given to your person of choice. Although it is directed at ex-boyfriends [aHEM, Matthew–this is for 1998], it works equally well for anyone who is so sadly drowning in his own douchebaggery that he doesn’t understand why he is still single. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that the pet name for his penis is “your royal hotness,” or that he thinks the g-spot is an urban myth, or that he likes to give himself the double-guns and a wink in the mirror before leaving the restroom.

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Thursday is the Valentine’s Day. Weee. It must be losing its pizazz because even my married friends are very meh about Valentines this year. That actually makes me a tiny bit sad, for it takes away from the magic that is National Singles Awareness Day. Stop it, Marrieds! This is our holiday for disdain! Shame on you. Give up sex for Lent instead.

I’ve got some goodies in store for you this week, but until then, here are posts from the last couple years that are relevant:

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