Hiya People,

Last night I was talking to a friend who happened to mention that his wife has gained a bunch of weight and he’s not exactly thrilled about it.  In fact, it has become enough of an issue for him as to cause problems for him when it comes to sexing his wife.  We didn’t get into the specifics, but safe to say he’s less than enthused about banging her and he wanted to know how he could let her know that this was a problem.  And so I thought about it, for quite a while.  But I didn’t come up with any method that didn’t involve straight up telling her, “Babe, your ass is gettin’ too big.”  In the end I told him he’d have to indirectly shame her somehow, because women are usually the most critical on themselves especially when dealing with the size of our ass.

Now, save all your outrage over how he should love her and want her no matter what she looks like, mother of his children, blahblahblah.  That’s bullshit.  Loving someone in the long term sense has nothing to do with keeping your sex appeal, that’s a separate issue that needs to be tended to as part of the whole.  If anything, keeping yourself attractive to your partner is a vital component to staying together happily, in my opinion.  That and good head.  I wouldn’t expect my man/woman to still get hot in the pants for me if I was busting outta mine and that’s just the way it goes.  Staying together for a couple decades is hard enough without having to lie to your partner about their looks and what effect it has on your libido.

But, I would like to offer him some better advice if possible.  Thoughts?

I found this hilariously puzzling list in the copy room on a notepad someone left.  I am now hovering outside the copy room trying to catch the person who claims it.  Analyze!

note to self: googling 'bad hangover' images is a really stupid idea right now.

The other day my friend LipstickLibrarian asked the question, “Tell me about the worst hangover you ever had.”  Which was fitting as I am discovering that I’m a disgrace to my Irish blood since I can no longer handle my drink.  If you’re facebook friends with me you’ve probably seen my Thursday status updates wherein I moan about what a wretched state I’m in and that an evil, evil bitch named Vodka is to blame. Like this:

Thandie Kadinsky-Papier: well, it’s Thursday so kadinsky must be hung the fuck over and wondering when she became such a sadist.  oh, and my stomach keeps trying to lurch it’s way out of my mouth so there’s that.  June 3 at 12:37pm

Thandie Kadinsky-Papier: is hungover……again……goddammit.  and I will bear this excedrin bottles’ children if it will just fucking work faster.  May 20 at 9:53am

Thandie Kadinsky-Papier:  wtf, vodka?  I was good to you all those years, we was tight, I kept you top shelf and chilled and you kept me magnanimous and slutty.  now all you do is buttfuck me with a hangover, you fuck.  you’re fired.  May 7 at 2:09pm

Pathetic, right?  I know.  But because there is fuck all to do in this town I keep going out on Wednesday nights with my co-workers and trying to strike a balance between buzzed-and-happy and dear-god-just-kill-me-and-be-done-with-it.  I have yet to succeed.  Last week I tried drinking water after every cocktail, a full glass of water even.  I had to pee every 6 minutes and still felt like ass the next day.  This week I figured if I just stuck to beer (which, okay, beer is fine and all but jesus christ the BLOAT come on) I would be fine.  Well, the problem is that it takes a lot of beer to get me to the same happy place.  According to my bar receipt it takes 14 beers.  And according to my desire to just DIE right now, 14 beers is too much.

So, all I can do today is sit here pretending to look busy and try not to let my face slide to the floor.  At lunch today I had to go heave because a motherfucking saltine looked at me wrong.  My co-worker was looking for me earlier to ask me something, when I got back to my desk he asked where I was.  I said I was in the handicapped stall taking a nap with my forehead against the cold hand railing.  He laughed at my joke.  I was not joking.  My hangovers have become a whole other state of being; they have transcended ‘hangover’ status to something more akin to being poisoned.  Clearly this is my body’s way of telling me to give it the hell up already.  Until LL asked the question and I saw some of my friends’ responses, I thought everyone went through the same kind of hangover hell that I did, but apparently not.  These are what mine are like, as told to friends and simply cut/pasted because I am lazy and HUNGOVER.

ohgod, the drinking. I wish all I had to deal with was a headache, my stomach crawls up my throat every time. I dry heaved 3 times while getting ready! there was nothing to throw up! but my stomach does not care, that bitch is merciless. she churns and churns until I puke up bile. so unpleasant. so then I think I’m in the clear and get down some water/alka seltzer and finish getting ready. I get to work, I make some tea, I’m at my desk sipping tea, thinking soothing thoughts and trying to work when who comes back to fuck me up? my goddamn vindictive stomach. I had to stop in the middle of that post up there to go ralph up the liquid I thought I was okay with. WHAT THE FUCK. eyes watering, nose running, makeup getting smeared off, jesus christ.

What about you?  How sick does drinking make you and do you continue to do it?

Also?  Weed has never done me wrong, so score one for cannabis.  And now I go to sleep behind the copier, xoxo.

My hotmail account (yes, I still have one, stop laughing at me!) was recently hacked and keeps spamming mofo’s at 3 in the morning.  While researching answers I came across this:

Oh, spambots.  Always good for a chuckle.

Hi!  Remember me?  I used to post things for you to read/ignore/steal/think about/waste conf call time on, but now all I do is dream about being able to do those things.  I know I was all, “Damn The Man!” when I worked corporate and now I work for myself but still need The Man to pay me so I’m all, “Damn my lack of sick days and regulated salary!”  First world problems, ftw.  Anyway, I gotta get back to work because my hand made imported hipster panties made from the inner ear linings of albino unicorn foals won’t pay for themselves, so enjoy some history.

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Mm-hmh.  It’s one of YOU, I see you.  Bastards.

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