Grog here, your resident optimist and playful alcoholic.
Let me preface this post by letting you know that I’m not drunk…yet.
Now, before you get your britches in a twist and start demanding your money back [for a free blog, you ninny-heads], know that inebriation is steadily on it’s way.
After a heart-pounding workout to burn off some “you-call-this-shit-professional?” work nonsense, I decided to replenish my fatigued muscles with two back-to-back shots of vodka, which I’m now chasing with a nice glass of Malbec.
Because I’m a classy bitch, folks, and that’s what ladies do after a bad day in the office.
Did you know that alcohol after an intense workout has an exponentially stronger affect? Perhaps it’s the endorphins or the fact I just sweated out the equivalent of an Ethiopian child and thus I’m horrifically dehydrated, but I feel like a fucking ROCK STAR right now. Just two and a half drinks in and I’m ready to find a table to dance on, twerking my white girl hips right down to the damn floor like it’s my job. Which… hmmm, now that I think about it, might be better than the one I have at the moment.
Move over, Miley Cyrus, there’s another blonde twerk-monster in town and I don’t have daddy issues and a man-voice as baggage.
You know what’s been driving me flipping crazy all day?
All the damn nonsense about the “royal baby.”
Really, who cares? Congrats, you two fucked like rabbits and popped out a healthy baby boy. Whoop-de-freaking-do! You’re just like 99.9% of the rest of the world over age 16: you can stick a ding-a-ling into a hooha and make babies. Join the club.
Not that I have a baby because, good Lord, who fucking has time for that sort of thing? I am thrilled to death when I don’t shit myself on a daily basis but having to clean up after something that does it for a living and find it CUTE? Hell NO.
And, back to the royal baby thing… why the hell do I care what the people in England are doing with their mating habits? I don’t care that you’re a balding prince and a polished princess – your sex life does NOT interest me.
Now, if a sex tape between Michelle Obama and the president leaked… I might be inclined to watch it. Though, I’m not sure if I’d care to see all of that gray bush hair and – oh God, I think I puked a little.
No, wait, just a burp of Malbec.
Damn. Didn’t taste as good coming up as it did going down. Maybe the red-wine-vodka-protein-shake blend wasn’t the best idea for a post-gym recovery.
You know, I don’t normally drink during the work week but Monday seemed like the best day to switch things up. I’m a happy person naturally but a few shots of vodka makes everyone and everything seem all that more exicitng. I wonder if I’ll actually be functional at work tomorrow if I have another shot, but I know I’ve got meetings tomorrow and I think hangover-face is not necessarily my best look. Although, funny enough, I’m looking pretty snazzy right now.
I accidentally hit the button for Photobooth on my dock because MY DOCK IS SO DAMN BIG [sexual pun intended, even though I’m a girl and don’t have a dock but you probably get that and I’m ruining it for explaining it, eh?] and now I’m just watching myself and trying to keep typing.
Hey, good looking lady. Is it possible to go lesbian for yourself? Is that considered incest? Hmmm.
Wait a second.
Does masturbating mean you’re gay? I mean… if you’re a straight guy and you jerk yourself off…that means you get off from stroking a guy’s penis.
HOLY SHIT. I just solved all prejudices in the world.
if you masturbate or have ever masturbated [don’t lie: you’re doing it right now, aren’t you?] then you’re officially bi-curious and now, as a result, you must accept ALL gender preferences because you’re no different than anyone else. You love yourself, you love the opposite sex. Welcome to a world of equality and same love.
Your welcome, people. I think I just solved humanity’s problems. Or just encouraged a worldwide orgy, which would be pretty nice right about now too.
And I have no idea how I got onto the topic of sex. Wasn’t I talkin about a baby a second ago? I think I just did the process in reverse. Babies don’t lead to sex, do they? Am I in an alternative dimension? I don’t wanta have a baby just to have sex, OK? I take it all back.
And I’m out of wine.
That’s my cue to get in the queue for dreamland. [get it? cue/queue? ahhhh hahahahahaha]
Farting rainbows and puking sunshine, kids, that’ what I do.