I amuse even me. 

Flattery will get you no where...

...except into my pants.

L: stupid internet
L: always sassing me
Boy who is written about here: If the internet would get together with you for a weekend, it would never sass you again.

Reflections on previous World Series games

Let me preface this by saying that I don't care about baseball in anyway.

Last year, I watched the Red Sox lose. It didn't seem so bad. Granted, I was upside down and receiving some multi-orgasmic oral. I have to say seeing them win right side up is only a little less fulfilling. Congrats to the Red Sox for overcoming an 86 year dry spell. And further congrats to me for not randomly hooking up with someone tonight.

"If you want a lover
I'll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I'll wear a mask for you." 

Ugh. Boys with Oedipal complexes are so boring and predictable. Just because I have an ample chest and a smile that makes it appear that I care does not mean I'm anything like your mother. If you're going to have emotional issues, at least try to make them interesting.

I just want a normal boy. One who will fuck me in the shower and not be there when I wake up. Is that too much for a girl to ask? Apparently it is. Scratch that. I want a boy with multiple personalities so he can keep up with me.

This update brought to you by the letter L and excellent margaritas on the rocks.

I've returned from the wretched world of monogamy at last! I finally remembered why I gave it up in the first place. Relationships are sort of like heroin. When it's good, you want more so badly you'd kill your own mother (but what wouldn't I kill the bitch for?). But one bad overdose can set you straight for decades. Although unlike heroin, relationships do not make you prettier.

It was good to get back on the, uh, horse this weekend. Though it did mean putting off a rather large paper. But as I've always beleived, you can retake a class but you can't relive a night of furious fucking. Admittidly, both my ass muscles and my morning after etiquette were a little out of practice. While I generally try to minimize the "just got fucked" look, Monday was a blantant and very long walk of shame. Accessorizing my mismatched outfit with "sex hair", I rode the Metro back for my morning class and then quickly retreated to the bat cave. Much to my dismay, upon arriving home, I discovered half a condom wrapper stuck to my ass under my jeans. Rather than being filled with shame, I spent most of the evening contemplating how it managed to stay there for an entire day.

Brought to you by the "back and better than ever" version of the letter L.

Fear not, our sexual appetities have not gone dormant. We've just been busy...er, washing our hair. Posts will hopefully resume shortly.