On this, the eve of my quatro y uno day of my birth celebration ( known in lesser countries as "Day Numero Uno Kickass, or "Fraulein Oldlein Sexylein""), I find myself pausing to reflect on what I have accomplished in this past year, the one where I found myself smack dab in CougarCuntry (patent pending).
- I got not one, not two, but THREE zits in the past month. Given the amount that I spend on anti-wrinkle salves, ointments and tinctures, it seems supremely unfair that a delicate flower like myself must be subjected to late-night, wine-induced extreme pimple probing, in a sad recreation of a typical Saturday night in my 1985. On a related note, do old-timey tinctures still contain things like cocaine and heroin? If so, I'm in.
- On a related note- I got Botox. Twice. Number three is coming up soon. I see this becoming a twice a year splurge, much like designer tampons (did you SEE the Marc Jacobs extra-absorbent? The magenta ones are to DIE for!). Now, before you get your only-slightly-stained-panties-and-that-was-from-when-you-nearly-hit-that-family-of-midgets-with-your-car in a bunch, I would bet my next born cat that you would never, ever have been able to tell that I had done a darn thing. The problem with all these crazy-assed monied reality-TeeVee snatches is that they tend to go, well...overboard. A little is good, doing your whole face makes you look like a dog hanging its head out of a 747 cruising over Boise.
- After last May's feetie owie surgery, I can wear heels again! High ones! Successfully! My personal financial consultant (aka my dog) has expressed concern about the ridonkulous amount of money spent on hooker heels in the past few months. He says I may be able to write them off on my taxes, but only if I install a stripper pole in my front yard and spend no less than 3.5 hours a day accepting dollar bills into my underpants. I can live with that.
- Also, in no particular order: I became a life-coach to a 7 year-old Mexican girl for an evening, I tried to stop putting "running" in quotation marks when referring to it as something I "do", but failed, I pulled my crotchal region stumbling off the treadmill after "running" one day, I got youtube-worthy drunk at Gwen's house while wearing Pajama Jeans, I took in a stray cat that pissed on my entire house and reduced me to a cookoo quivering pee-scrubbing rageball, I took a cat to a (no-kill) shelter for hopefully the first and last time ever, I ate so much kale & beets in one week (for no particular reason) that I pooped in technicolor, and I was extremely unsuccessful in censoring myself, even when it comes to poo.
I'm here to take the blame- bring it on, motherfuckers.