I am genuinely ashamed that I didn't post for the entire month of October. September can go fuck itself. October's where it's at.
October has my heart. It's warm and cool. The month starts with the last of the summer thunderstorms and ends with the potential for a faint flurry of translucent snow. It's the ulitmate foliage tipping point between the gentle ebb of the pale green and the onset of Autumnal burlesque. The air gets spicey with apples and the vomit of south-bound hoboes. The world undergoes a strange crackle of energy that seems to simultaneously wake things up, and dull their senses with too much color and air-born mold.
I was truly convinced, as the month creaked and eeked along, that I would make time to post something before the end, because BY GOD it's my Birthday Month. And maybe I would have made time if the whole month of October hadn't been so incredibly excellent. Seriously, it was like everyone but me knew I was dying! I kept getting great shit. People of varying degrees of hotness wrote long emails and made me feel special. Friends and loved ones made magnificent promises of goods and services to be bestowed on amorphous future occasions.
Good shit, like I said. The birthday haul this year was impressive. Sigoth came through like a champ, despite being heavily involved in moving to a new place. Which is a gift in and of itself. A girl likes to know where she'll be making the walk of shame from. The Bride secured amazingly specific candies from far-away lands and thus, managed to conquer the "sweet spot" on the vinn-diagram of my many fetishes. (It's English! It's Henry and the 6 bitches! It's CHOCOLATE for crissakes! It came from a far-away land in a British Envelope.)
And from here, I could go on to either list everyone in turn who gave me something I actually remember and can use (fuck you whoever gave me "world peace.") or I can trail off with the Cheat. You know, sort of suggest that there are just too, too many people to thank and so I'll thank ALL of you and blahbittyblah.
Instead, I'm going to hedge the gap and say THANK YOU to the 8 of you who did such fucking phenomenal, generous things for me for my birthday. These things ranged from getting up off their asses for five goddamn minutes, all the way to dedicating entire days to making me happy.
Furthermore, it's one of those birthdays that are supposed to strike fear and regret and vague sexual confusion in the hearts of women. And it maybe kind of did. I'm getting olderish. It's not about looks (yet) or wet farts or strange tufts of hair or orthopedic jock straps. It's mostly a matter of time and place. Am I where I wanted to be at this age? Well, not really. But damn, that's kind of a good thing. Depending on which Blogerella from which age you interview, that answer's gonna change. At one point I would have said "a Vet!" (Animal, not War.) A few years later the answer would have been "Dead! Be still my heart!" But as we all know, whatever the story is there, it didn't pan out according to plan. So mostly, I am just happy to BE.
Which is also totally a cheat, but since I don't know how else to be, it's also the right answer.
Nightly News:
I'd like to extend a Shaddout to my friend She-Randall's main man, Klrosksey. He somehow managed to talk her into a wager involving Camel Menthols and her virginal asshole. In summation, he totally won and she's gotta ride the bike with no seat at some point in the future. Ha'pint insists that such a wager would never have been made unless She-Randall had the faint hope that Klrosksey would follow through. I would like to point out that the only reason Ha'pint would think such a thing is if she too harbors the quiet, unspecified hope that someday someone will find a way to trick her out of her fanny cherry.
Man up, bitches. I can't be the only chick in the world who wants to occasionally look around and find a cock in her ass.
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