So this weekend I was reading through some old journals and came across this excerpt from June 10th, 2009.
Walnuts looks like vaginas. Just thought I’d share. Now see, I’m not sure I’m ready to go quite that raunchy on the blog yet, but I guess we’ll see.
Oh how far I’ve fallen in a mere thirteen months, eh? So far, in fact, that I now write about vaginas on two other sites! (I know how proud you are, Mom – no words are necessary.)
Today’s Craftastrophe doesn’t involve a vagina though. Well, not directly. Though it certainly should never pass through one. Be warned, you’ll never look at bunnies the same way again. Unless you look at bunnies cross-eyed. Then you’ll probably always look at bunnies the same way.
Weirdo.
Speaking of nuts, I’m pretty sure that’s where I’m going.
Did you know there’s a town in New Jersey called Nutley. It doesn’t have a mall, an Ikea, nor an airportl, so I’ve never been. I can only assume it’s full of whack jobs. After all, any sane person randomly picking a place to live in New Jersey would chose Mahwah, Ho-ho-kus, or Moonachie because they are so much more fun to say.
Did I mention that I didn’t sleep well last night? Does it show?
Rocco always tells me not to worry about my brain acting a little wonky unless I smell toast. He’s very supportive like that.
Speaking of toast, you know I have to write a toast for Gwatt as I’m the old married hag of honor, right? At least, they tell me I do. Maybe I’ll just share my favorite ever toast as taught to me by one of my favorite neighbors ever. Feel free to use this at your next formal function.
Here’s to women, creatures divine
Who shed once a month, and bare once a nine.
The only creatures twixt heaven and hell
Can extract juice from a nut without cracking the shell.
Maybe I’ll even write a little melody, accompany myself on my shiny new ukulele, and coerce my three brothers into playing backup with kazoos while Dad performs a Tai Chi themed interpretive dance! Brilliant!
My work here is done.
I am such a giver. I’ll say it again: Best. Bridesmaid. Ever.
I would have voted for jackalope in a pool of vomit, too. Totally.
Rose petal vomit. Ugh.
fuck, sometimes i smell toast.
you’re a tough nut to crack, elly. that’s why we love you.
Does it happen when you’re making toast? ‘Cause that’s probably not a big deal.
Toast? Did someone say toast? I like toast…
Have you ever heard the best song about Toast ever? I sing it every time I eat toast.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vUNIKbX_kUg
Are you giving out toast now? Omg. I love toast. Totally unrelated comment. I was a maid of honour at a wedding once and also had to do a speech (yuck) and I started by saying “uhmm, to those that have a key to Meredith’s apartment she would like her keys back… ALL the men in the reception, threw keys (not violently) on the wedding party table. It was funny. Well I thought it was!! Oh maybe the comment is related. I wonder why Meredith does not talk to me anymore. kidding.
Oh shit. I might steal your line. And of course the thong line. I’ll need to pepper the audience with keys and thongs of course.
Best. Toast. EVER.
*slurp*
Okay, maybe I’m being picky here, but I’ve never shed each month and then gone on to bare every nine – I’m up on this stuff, I’ve been pregnant for a total of three friggin’ years (admittedly, not all in one go, but still)..
That is an awful lot o’ pregnant. I think I just felt my fallopian tubes spontaneously shrivel away from my ovaries.
Nuts !! I love that word. Nuts!! lol
We love what we know, right?
Yep, you’ve gone totally downhill although your blog is still vaginatastic!
Ew. Sounds like it needs some antibiotic cream then.
I lol’d.
Loving the poem!
Why do I ever click the link to your Catastrophes? Why? It’s always something that I can’t unsee.
♥Spot
I’m helping your horror writing career!
I’d consider getting married all over again just so you could be my bridesmaid!
p.s. I will never be able to look at a walnut without laughing any more. Thanks. Wait for a letter from the attorney hired by the Walnut Grower Association.
I love you and all, but you’ll never get me in a butt bow. Never.
Poor Roccoco. You only bare once a nine? Good thing we went to Broadway Bares, not Broadway Bears. Which could be one of any three things now that I think about it like that.