bonus!

just saying.

(super secret) #1 thing girls love: being called fat.

 

i had a special treat today.  it almost made me swoon right off my chair.  i was eating a granola bar with peanut butter (granted, i was dipping it in the full jar of peanut butter at the time, but if you pretend you've never done that before, you are a dirty stinking ape of a liar).  the kid next to me (i'll call him the "mensa mammoth") turns to me and says: "are you dipping that granola bar in peanut butter"?  i nod (my mouth was full of delicious granola and peanut butter, and i'm too effing polite to talk with my mouth full).  mensa mammoth responds with a (smooth) smile: "classic fat kid move".   ummm... please stop.  you had me at "fat kid".  

this is the face i made:

lesson for guys: i will make you sit in the corner and wear one of these... but instead, you will have to write a bajillion times: "i will keep my fat mouth closed".

does not compute.

i'm just going to start this "article" immediately with the lesson for guys: telling a girl that "your babies would be beautiful" does NOT make you less creepy.  it makes about as much sense as this:

and makes me feel like this:

i dare you to keep pestering me.  i know exactly how to equally creepify you.  i will demand one of these: 

but larger and more sparkly.

bonus lesson for guys: creepy is NEVER a trait women look for.

it can not be unseen.

for the record... THIS is the opposite of what i want for my birthday.  i would rather have one of these or even one of these.  but what i REALLY want?  is this!

is "garlic" code for crack?

i have a horrible addiction that i am deeply ashamed of.  if i were catholic, i would tell the priest in confession.  i'll tell you, but you have to promise not to mock me.  ok.  ready?

it's these.  cheese and garlic croutons.  holy mother.  msg isn't on the list of ingredients, but something in that bag makes me wanna mow through these like a cow with cud.  a horse with oats.  some other farm animal with some other farm animal food.  stop laughing and shut up, i'm serious.  i have a serious problem with these.  and then they went on sale.  i'll need a fat scooter soon if i keep up at the pace i'm going.  if msg isn't in here, i figure one of these other ingredients must have some addictive property.  i need help, but i haven't found a "croutons anonymous" support group yet...  if i don't manage to quit, i'm pretty certain of my fate.

you know it's love when...

 

always there for me.  never lets me down.  always effing delicious.  always makes me smile.  for my next birthday i would like a life-sized chocolate mold of a man.  (as one friend says - of easter bunnies - "EAT THE EYES FIRST!")

yes. my sweatpants have an elastic waistband.

as i write this, i am making every attempt not to swoon.  my heart is all a-flutter.  i believe it may have even... yes, it just skipped a beat.  being the ever giving fountain of compliments that he is, le cafard informed me that i "look good most days, except those days when (i) just don't give a fu@k".  hmm.

*newsflash* nine times out of ten?  i do not give a rat turd about how i look or what other people think.  i am not a complete slob, but i don't see the point in spending more than 15 or 20 minutes to do hair and makeup in the morning when i have a very physical job where i'm guaranteed to sweat and get nasty within an hour of the time i arrive on the job.  even drake in all his sagely wisdom said: "Sweat pants, hair tied, chillin' with no make-up on.  That's when you're the prettiest, I hope that you don't take it wrong"

come on now.  nobody is perfect allllll the time.  not even you, cafard.  i am holding out for a guy that thinks i'm a slamming piece of apple fritter regardless of whether i've spent 1.5 hours to get ready or just rolled out of bed.  remember what i said about the girls without eyebrows?  nobody can be made up all the time.  i'll give you a few minutes to recover from the shock of that shocking shocker.  seriously though... if you can't take me at my worst?  please, home fry, you can not take me at all. 

lesson for guys: wanna score points?  tell a girl she looks hotter than vindaloo even when she looks about as hot as a soggy french fry found on the floor of the car between the seat and console.  and you can't remember the last time you had french fries.