Showing posts with label sex. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sex. Show all posts
Friday, February 12, 2010
No blog today. I spent too much time doing other stuff like sleeping and eating massive amounts of Chinese food and dancing randomly in the middle of a movie theater lobby.
Instead I will just make you smile. This is what my 82 year old Grandmother's pool looks like:
Instead I will just make you smile. This is what my 82 year old Grandmother's pool looks like:
See something other than Dong. I dare you.
I'm not pulling your leg. Oh, and two of my Aunts live with her. So three older ladies, two little dogs, and dong pool. Seriously, it's like (Jane Austen's Emma x Hilarious) + Porn = Childhood Summer Memories.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
My other blog was a bit of a cop out, I realize. Especially compared to the meaty goodness of the others. I mean, I could have elaborated on the whole possum fiasco. Like, I didn't realize how adorable they are. With their long, wormy tails and their pointy little faces. They look all cute and soft and cuddly... until they hiss. I shit you not, they hiss like cats, and have fangs the size of my pinkie finger. But that happened yesterday. I want to blog about today.
It's a lovely day. In Loriland, lovely days are gray and drizzly, full of sprinkly rain and fog and coffee. I didn't get much sleep last night, partially due to an overactive imagination, partially due to worrying about my boyfriend's drunk ass. (It was the Drummer's birthday.) So when I was up at an ungodly hour (7effinAM) and unable to go back to sleep, I decided to see if my parents were awake and take them out to breakfast. It ended up being brunch.
With a belly full of scrambled eggs and gravy, I was more than ready for the sleep. But the second my head hit the pillow, I couldn't stop thinking about that hairy guy out west. So I sent a text message, in the hopes that it might get him off my mind enough to help me get some shut eye. He sent one back right away. Apparently I had woken the poor, hungover boy up. An hour later we were getting off the phone, wishing each other luck on our napping endeavors. However, knowing he was safe and sound at home in bag, and hadn't smeared his face across the freeway, I was suddenly wide awake. I blogged a bit, I read, I facebooked. I practiced my guitar. Just as I lay down to try and finally nap, I got a text from Abbi.
As I eventually told her later, I love her more than I love sleep, so I was willing to meet her at our favorite coffee shop. Seriously though, I don't love food more than sleep. Just the other day I didn't let food interrupt my 17 hour sleepfest. I sometimes ask Boyfriend if he wants me to to set our alarm early enough for a quickie before we have to be wherever we have to be. Half the time the consensus is... "Eh.... set it early, and if we hit snooze, oh well." So, yeah. Sometimes I love Abbi more than I love sex. And that's saying something. Sex, Abbi and Sleep. The rotating top three.
So that's where I am now. Sitting with my bestest friend in our favoritest coffee shop, looking out the window at the wet bohemian street that is Brookside. We're both blogging, both drinking dark chocolate mochas with creme de menthe, eating Tim Tams and licking the gooey goodness off our fingertips like 6 year olds. Watching the sky dim and the lights begin to twinkle. Whenever I spend time with Abbi it's magically cinematic. I love her, and I will dearly miss these magnificent rainy evenings.
It's a lovely day. In Loriland, lovely days are gray and drizzly, full of sprinkly rain and fog and coffee. I didn't get much sleep last night, partially due to an overactive imagination, partially due to worrying about my boyfriend's drunk ass. (It was the Drummer's birthday.) So when I was up at an ungodly hour (7effinAM) and unable to go back to sleep, I decided to see if my parents were awake and take them out to breakfast. It ended up being brunch.
With a belly full of scrambled eggs and gravy, I was more than ready for the sleep. But the second my head hit the pillow, I couldn't stop thinking about that hairy guy out west. So I sent a text message, in the hopes that it might get him off my mind enough to help me get some shut eye. He sent one back right away. Apparently I had woken the poor, hungover boy up. An hour later we were getting off the phone, wishing each other luck on our napping endeavors. However, knowing he was safe and sound at home in bag, and hadn't smeared his face across the freeway, I was suddenly wide awake. I blogged a bit, I read, I facebooked. I practiced my guitar. Just as I lay down to try and finally nap, I got a text from Abbi.
As I eventually told her later, I love her more than I love sleep, so I was willing to meet her at our favorite coffee shop. Seriously though, I don't love food more than sleep. Just the other day I didn't let food interrupt my 17 hour sleepfest. I sometimes ask Boyfriend if he wants me to to set our alarm early enough for a quickie before we have to be wherever we have to be. Half the time the consensus is... "Eh.... set it early, and if we hit snooze, oh well." So, yeah. Sometimes I love Abbi more than I love sex. And that's saying something. Sex, Abbi and Sleep. The rotating top three.
So that's where I am now. Sitting with my bestest friend in our favoritest coffee shop, looking out the window at the wet bohemian street that is Brookside. We're both blogging, both drinking dark chocolate mochas with creme de menthe, eating Tim Tams and licking the gooey goodness off our fingertips like 6 year olds. Watching the sky dim and the lights begin to twinkle. Whenever I spend time with Abbi it's magically cinematic. I love her, and I will dearly miss these magnificent rainy evenings.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
About Me
- Lori
- Seattle, United States
- During this course of study, you will come to learn much about the strange eating, sleeping and mating habits of the Instrospective Lori under stress. We will observe as she moves halfway across the country to start a life with her own Captain Wentworth, takes a year off of work to pursue a writing career, and incessantly references Jane Austen.