There has been some seriously brutal honesty on my blog of late. One of my readers has been taking me to task on my punctuation. I don’t mind this at all because she isn’t like, “It’s your, not you’re, you dumbass.” She’s nice about it and she’s doing me a favor. If I ever become a famous blogger and make millions of dollars gracing the internet with my mental diarrhea, I’m hiring her as my proofreader.
Lately I don’t have time to write a blog a few days in advance and visit it with fresh eyes a half a dozen times before I post it. This is renegade posting ya’ll!
I also don’t mind because I have been the giver of brutal honesty and if you can’t take it, then don’t dish it.
For instance: I was camping with Harmy’s family at a hot spring a while back. Enriqué, her husband, is a big fan of what we call The Uniform. You see, this place we go to is clothing optional.
What people who have never been to a nudist camp don’t know is that they are profoundly unsexy places. People who get naked at nudist camps are not young hardbodies, they are very normal people … who like to shave their balls.
Aaanyway … The Uniform usually consists of a very tight t-shirt and nothing else, except for shoes maybe. I’ve seen men change t-shirts but not bother to put pants on. Whatever floats your boat, I’m just here for the warm water and the scenery. But not that scenery. Especially when you are chopping firewood with an axe and totally freaking me out.
Because we had kids with us (and in case you are concerned, the people who frequent these places have always been very appropriate around children) Enrique rolled out a “lite” version of The Uniform.
He ambled up to the picnic table where I was sitting and put me eye to, uh, balls, with his junk. After about a second it just came out of my mouth. “Do you have a really tiny penis or are your balls freakishly huge?”
I don’t know what I was thinking, it just came out! What I love about Enriqué is that he has an iron-clad ego. He took it completely in stride and actually gave it a little thought. Of course it couldn’t be that he had a tiny penis, therefore …
… he went to a doctor and discovered that he had hydrocele testis, a potentially fatal condition!
Well, not really. But I do find it intriguing that the name of the internal membrane that contains the testicles are called the tunica vaginalis. That’s right, in every testicle is a vagina!
Anyway, he had a procedure to fix his condition and restore his penis/balls to their rightful proportions. Anything I can do to help.
If you’re thinking that tomorrow I’m going to post a public (pubic) apology, then you guessed wrong. The reason? None of my friends read my blog. Except Pamcakes. Hi Pamcakes! I’ll be hanging out with a friend and start telling them about that asshole who was screaming at me on the trailhead and then I’ll be all, “But wait, you already know about it because you’ve read it on my blog!” and they are like, “Oh, are you still doing that?”
“Uh, yah. I am. I’m almost on my 300th post and Reader’s Digest is going to write about me in September. Not that it matters.” So am I going to apologize for exposing Enriqué’s big ball situation? No. Because he shouldn’t be embarrassed. And because he will never find out.
Time to cut the crap.
Don’t get too excited. This photo is for Cindy. She thought I got rid of all the albums in yesterday’s post but alas, I just shoved them around, but at least they are off the floor. There’s another record buyer in town (i.e. hoarder) but I’m not opposed to encouraging another’s disfunction, as long as it gets the shit out of my house.
My new neighbors moved into a bazillion dollar house that has ABSOLUTELY NO COOLING SYSTEM. Only in Boulder. I knew the guy who lived in it before, and the people before that. None were hurting for money (obviously) so it boggles my mind that they would suffer through the hot Boulder summers without AC or a swamp cooler.
Anyway, I caught him leaving his house, about to buy a window unit when I stopped him and pulled this spare unit out from under the stairs, of course. Sleep well and in coolness, my new friend.
Extra long twin sheets, which don’t fit any beds in our house. I’m donating it to the people displaced by the Black Forest Fire.
Rando vessels that I’m donating. I’m going to dig more shit out of the house today, but I have to get busy and finish an article I’m writing (for pay) before I go camping this weekend. Plus, I’ve been farting around the house this morning, engaged in the luxury of daytime TV.
I just watched Episode 81 of 30 Rock (on Netflix instant download, watch it now!) I swear it is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. EVER! I’m going to make Lonny watch it when he gets home because it perfectly sums up our dynamic when I am emotional and he’s trying to console me. Only I’m Matt Damon and he’s Tina Fey.