Everything I Like Causes Cancer

In an abundance of caution and fear, I've held off announcing my recent come-from-behind victory over the hugely talented and revered Wendy Brandes in the Most Swears category of the The 2009 Drysdale Awards. I mean, come on! She’s beautiful, she runs in circles so far outside my wheelhouse that I can’t even imagine the fabulosity; she’s huge and hordes of people fucking love her.

So yeah, I’ve been traveling incognito since Monday - driving a hoopdie and wearing a trench coat, a big, floppy hat and dark sunglasses - in an effort to evade her adoring fans and the rotten tomatoes (or rocks) I expect they would throw at my tiny head if they could catch me. Suckas!

But the time has come to thank MY adoring fans and friends and family for their ballot-stuffing support and to toot my own damn horn. You guys rock! We did it! David felled Goliath!

It was a really fun campaign - y'all were so into it! People were texting updates, other people were emailing for status and cheering me on. Like a true politician, I drunk g-chatted with some of you. It was exciting. Thank you for all of it. My favorite response to the call for votes was from my dad, who said "Go you girl! Or maybe if it still counts: Damn, Go you Girl! We voted. As you can see we are always there when really really important stuff happens." Awesomesauce.

I also won the award for Worst Spelling and Grammar. I'm not sure I get that one . . . but WHO THE FUCK CARES? I WON SWEARS! I WON SWEARS! With that, I think it's high time we started doin' some tootin', monkeys!

Well, it does when the musician plays it instead of loading it up with hippie lettuce like Hans here did.

Party on, Hans!

We've got Patriotic clown tooters! A whole car full!

And finally, we've got a mostly naked, dancing, midget elf.

Because what victory celebration is complete without one?

That, and it came up when I googled "tooting your own horn."

So, enjoy yourselves with the clowns and that hungry kid and Hans and everyone else. There's day-old doughnuts and a couple of room-temp bottles of Mad Dog 20/20 (grape) in the back room. You earned this party, freaks.

Well, hi! Gosh, it's been a while. Have you lost weight? Changed your hair? No? Well, whatever it is you're doing, it looks good on you. Rowr.

What's that? How have I been? Meh. I'm having expensive car troubles again. It's possible this is the time I should have sent the old girl to The Great Junkyard In The Sky (guarded by Old Yeller and Lassie, BTW) but by the time we figured out the second half of the problem was INSIDE the transmission (*cha-ching!*), I was in too deep. Blahblahblahwhatever.

I had been without a car for about four days when I remembered a friend once mentioned he has an old truck he would loan me when I need to haul garden supplies. I called him up on Sunday and within an hour he was at my doorstep with the keys, which were handed over with a chuckle. It wasn't until I was trying to maneuver out of a parallel park that I realized Lil Truck (yes, I've named it) doesn't have power steering and that my friend was full-on laughing at me. I've gotten the hang of it - I park very far away from stationary objects - and have discovered that my briefcase can double as a drink holder. Sweet.

In other news . . .

WHISKEYMARIE VON PARTYPANTS AND I WILL BE REUNITED IN DOWNTOWN CHICAGO IN TWO DAYS!

At the annual Chicagoland Gang Christmas Night Out!

She's gonna meet all my other stupid friends!

Awwww, yeah, bitches.

I hope she remembers to pack extra underwear.

Most days I wake up with a song stuck in my head. I don't know if this is common or why I do it. Maybe my dreams (which I rarely remember) are musicals. Yes, I am THAT happy sunshine girl you all hate to love.

Could everyone PLEASE put on their BIG GIRL (or boy) PANTS and stop fighting about how much attention you are or are not getting, about who’s following or unfollowing who, about who’s commenting and who isn’t?

Seriously.

It’s making me sad and when I’m sad, I cry. And when I cry my face turns red and my eyes and nose get puffy. It’s truly hideous. This, in turn, only makes me sadder and then I cry more. It’s a terrible, terrible circle of unhappiness for me and, as we all know, it’s all about me.

So quit it. Either kiss and make up (groping would also be a nice way to mend fences; I’m just sayin’) or shut up and ignore each other. Like RIGHT NOW. If you don’t, I’m going to grow my hair out and get a spiral perm to complete my “we’ve all gone back to high school” look.

Comments for this post have been closed because I absolutely DO NOT WANT to hear anymore about this.

That is all.