I woke up this morning to find the following text waiting for me on a blinking Webster:
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Know anyone that would like to buy a vagina painting for 50 bucks? I don’t think it smells like hamster. |
How awesome is that? Also, if you feel like a gigantic $50 vagina painting is exactly what you need to compliment your tasteful decor, just email me. I’ve been thinking about broadening my subject matter.
You know what else is awesome? Sleep. I’d like some of that, please.
You know what wasn’t awesome? My weekend. I don’t have any skin left on my knuckles, I sat through Women on the Verge of Nervous Breakdown (which was only slightly more enjoyable than the not-so-musical Enron), and spent two consecutive nights avoiding vivid nightmares about today’s dentist appointment.
I’m gonna get drilled. Three times. In a row. (Like LiLo’s crotch.)
It’s not the actual drilling that’s haunting my dreams though. (And no, my nightmares aren’t filled with LiLo’s crotch either…at least not the last couple of nights.) I keep having those oh-crap-I’m-going-to-forget-and-miss-my-appointment dreams. You know, the ones where you keep checking the giant wall Swatch strapped around your waist and asking the platypus you’re riding to fly faster so you don’t get caught in rush hour traffic? Yeah, that kind of dream.
Just this morning, sometime around 3am, I was yelling at my dad to climb into the back of an unmarked, windowless cargo van so that our driver (one of the employees featured on last night’s Undercover Boss) could whisk us away to the dentist. But no, Dad had to study the built-to-scale miniature Frank Lloyd Wright homes built out of white bones that peppered the grassy median. I had to lure him into the van with Rolos and Moon Pies. I can’t quite remember why we were Skyping with Mom inside a German Hot Topic store, but I’m sure it was equally stressful and terrifying.
I was so discombobulated when the alarm went off this morning that I completely forgot to wish Rocco a Happy Blankityeth Birthday! (Happy day, Babe. I look forward to spending the next blankity years with you. But after that, Justin Timberlake has first right of refusal so we’ll just have to play that part by ear.)
Oh and it’s Monday so that means there’s a Craftastrophe. Snap this one up so you have a place to display your collection of disembodied spleens. Or keys. Either one.
Now I’m off to let a strange man shove all kinds of things into my mouth…which I usually only do on Tuesdays.
Someone just disclosed to me that if you go to the right dentist, and you tell them you are terrified of the dentist, they will write you a script for ativan or valium, to take before. GOOD TO KNOW.
I heard that too late. Plus last time I had a scan the techs were giving me shit for taking Lorazapam so I figured maybe I should take it down a notch on the controlled substances. Wrong decision.
I dreamed this weekend about finding myself about to go on TV in a Keira Knightly lookalike contest – completely unprepared and looking 100% not like Keira Knightly. And then it was one of those dreams that won’t go away when you wake up, so I sat there in bed thinking of things I should have done to make myself more Keira-ish.
But you’re so lovely! Pbltt on Keira and her exquisite cheek bones.
Thank your lucky stars you saw “Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown” this weekend and not “Little Shop of Horrors” or “Marathon Man.”
Seriously. You’re giving me shivers, the bad kind. I have dental PTSD.
Mmmmm, dirty (wink).
My mouth or my mind?
Ahh! Thank gawd you were just writing about it. I thought that painting was following me.
Wait till you see what Scott and I got you for xmas!
Hope your dentist visit goes better than mine! I am still having nightmares…. LOL
Next time I’m taking a roofie.
so I can add another “movies that don’t work as broadway shows” to my list. to bad – women on the verge is one of my favorite almodovar movies.
its a shame about your appointment. isn’t it a rule that triple-drillings are mandatorilyy earth-moving? Or at least slightly pleasurable?
It was earth moving, but not pleasurable.
My date was a gal who passionately loved the movie, too. I’ve never seen it. But the show was so bad I’m not sure I have any desire to see the movie.
I tried to cross-stitch a vagina this weekend. What’s with all the hoohah art?
Please tell me I’ll be receiving a cross-stitched vagina in the mail. Pretty please?
I really don’t do well with the dentist. I hate that mouth thing they shove into your mouth that pulls your lips back and makes you look like a monster. It’s so unflattering.
GOOD LUCK. I hope they give you some rad laughing gas
I find the drool and dribble for the four hours afterward to be the least attractive part of the procedure.
Nice pic…. I imagine myself buying it and then having my mom come over… look @ it and wonder what exactly it reminds her of….
yeah the fallout wouldn’t be pretty so I’ll pass on that purchase 😉
Oh do it! Now I have to make one for Mom, too!
Ha! At first I thought that was a tattoo on your arm… I was going, wtf?
I AM in the market for a new tattoo, but I wasn’t planning on a vagina. *stops to ponder the possibilities*
Whoa! I thought that was a tattoo also! This is relief washing over me. Dang. But everyone knows Moonpies are perfect for luring. Also, they’re better than dreaming of balls flying at your face?
It depends on the balls, I suppose. Peanut Butter balls? Not so bad. Cricket balls? Bad.
For that shameful comparison, I bet Georgie O’Keefe’s ghost is going to invade your dreams tonight and kick your hiney.
Then someone’ll tell me I look seventy.
Happy Birthday, Rocco! Sagitarians rock!
Don’t “accidentally” miss your appointment.
I “accidentally” missed my root canal appointment three times. Me=brave motherfucker.
I’m surprised you didn’t get that painting for Rocco. What kind of blanketing wife are you?! Wait. In terms of pussies, the smaller the better. My bad. Carry on.
I hope you’ve recovered from all the narcotics fed to you before the doctor put his stuff in your mouth.