Ubiquitous & Iniquitous

I feel like I’ve been drinking caipirenas (kai-pee-REE-nyaz). My head is swimming, I’m pukey. Urk. Fucking phone. So the wedding went better than they typically do. Philip added a lot. We had our own hotel room and boy oh boy was it hetero.
This seven year old (my cousin’s son) challenged me to a dance contest…he got served. That little fucker owes me ten thousand gallons of ice cream on which I have yet to collect.
Man it was hot. I was flat on my back thrusting my legs straight up into the air while creeping towards him all the time. I destroyed that kid.
The DJ sucked. From Frank Sinatra to the goddamn fucking Chicken Dance to Cotton Eye fucking Jo to 50 Cent…Christ. It actually got worse from there. The final song was “Last Dance” (what a cock) and that was when I dismantled the kid. but I prefer a DJ to a band. Wedding bands are always so fucking sappy and depressing to look at.
My cousin, Michael and his bride, Jean made parts of their wedding jokes though and that was pretty awesome. The gifts were these little boxes of Jordan almonds with the phrase “Thanks for coming and making this the best day ever!” on them and their first dance song was “Forever Young” from Napoleon Dynamite and Old School respectively. Pretty good.
AND, I was talking to my sister about that fucking Gwen Stefani song about her feces being fruit. My sister (four years more 'in the know’ than myself) informed me that I was thinking too hard. Obviously she wasn’t saying her feces was bananas (B-A-N-A-N-A-S), but this new slang was baffling. Turns out she is saying bananas to mean crazy. She was going back to the old days as far as sang. Wow. I feel lighter.
I think I should arrange a hotel room trip. Someplace out of the way where twelve people or so can get three hotel rooms and have a big thing. Hotels are awesome. Totally awesome. Room service is too, although olives in Caesar salad are NOT awesome. They are, in fact, naughsome. Naughsome xmax.
The beds in this place were supersexy too. I probably would have enjoyed it more if it I hadn’t been coming down with the Furry Death (the malady I am currently afflicted with).
Earlier today I had organic milk for the first time.
I am ambivalent. Alternating gulf streams of scalding fury and arctic loathing roil about my feet, legs, torso and neck while a gentle nonchalant breeze caresses my face and tries to separate the adventurous orchid from my magnanimous hat.
Algolagnia, my friends, is underrated. Give it a try; make your hickey into a love bite. Make your love bite into a health risk. Make your health risk into a baffling case of exsanguination. There was this special on serial killers, specifically those that ate their victims. One thread that kept coming up was a deep love for the person that was consumed. The eaters wanted to be closer than any sexual act would allow. They wanted their object to be a part of them.
I think that is amazing. And a bit sexy. Think about it.
I’m going to stat my new book now and enjoy my watermelon Jolly Rancher lollypop.