Blognapping by Nessa

What's up peeps - Nessa's in the hizzy fo' shizzy! Yeah, I have no earthly idea what I just said...I'm about as white as they come, folks! I am here because I am blogless and I must pimp my pictures and stories.

The Leg o'Spoon and I had a blast in Hell-Ay and although we slept a mere 20 hours over the course of 5 days and ate approximately 2 actual meals over the course of 5 days, we survived and lived to tell the tales. The tales will be coming soon, once we've had enough sleep to make our brains function in a normal capacity and once our bodies have been sufficiently rehydrated...this could take WEEKS, people!

In the meantime, please enjoy these pictures on my Flickr (Spoonie takes longer to edit than I do because she's talented and shit)...although I took about 500 pictures, most of them were crap and/or were part of our foray into pornographic photography and are not suitable for the general viewing public...enjoy the salvageable ones...

Feel free to also enjoy this video of a darling gentleman on the corner of Crenshaw or Compton or Hawthorne or Long Beach Boulevard, or maybe he was in the VALLEY - this will all make sense soon! The best part of the video is the sound...I didn't know if I was recording or not...

Why did YouTube make the video big & grainy? Oh well...The link, in case the video doesn't load...(P.S. does anyone know where I can upload or how I can shrink a video over 100 megs?? Leave a comment because that one is fucking awesome!)

More to come - I'll let the ol' Leg tell the good parts and I'll fill in the stuff she missed...which means I'll be writing most of it - HAH!


Another Filler Post.

I know that my blogging of late has been sporadic and, let's face it, shitty at best, but there has been mondo business going on in the Casa de Spoon and the blogging just ain't getting done like it used to. I think this could possibly be a good sign and might even indicate that, hey, I actually have a LIFE now, but I have to admit that I'm missing the blog circuit immensely. I just can't hang like I used to!

This past weekend I planned and hosted a pirate party at my house, which was simultaenously incredibly fun and the biggest mistake I've ever made. There was lots of cleaning, lots of decorating, lots of baking, lots of mixing and prepping and arranging... and then there was lots of drinking. Lots and LOTS of drinking. By my estimates we had about 40 pirates tromping in and out of our apartment at any given time. Most of the attendees were old high school friends, some of them college friends, and a few of them total fucking strangers. There was lots of laughter and dancing and fun, and by the time all the jello shots were gone, the volume of my voice had risen about 3 octaves and I was actually threatening to call the police on MYSELF. Whatever, I suffer from voice intoxication immodulation. I'm unable to control the pitch or volume of my voice when drunk.

On Thursday I'm headed to L.A. with fellow (former) blogger Nessa, whom I have recently come to know has been harrassed by some of my very own readers, to which I say HOW DARE YOU? Quit being such assholes, seriously people. Good lawd. Anyway, Nessa and I will be painting the town red (with our cosmopolitan-colored vomit) and partying like two sorority sisters on bid night. You know you're jealous. Go ahead and admit it. I can't WAIT to have a nice, relaxing vacay. You'll hear all about it upon my return, I'm sure, as well as find many incriminating photos on my flickr stream. I'm hoping the weather there is pleasant, because this morning it was 48 degrees FAHRENHEIT in Houston, Texas. I think my fingertips might fall off.


Going to Brazil, Gonna Eat Me a Lot of Peaches.

Before departing for my journey to the Big D last week, I had a momentary lapse of intelligence and decided to get my muffin waxed. Nay, not waxed- SHREDDED (and not the type of shredded that Scotty and Marit like to refer to; this particular shredding did not involve guttural moans of pleasure). At the ASSVICE of one Snaps McSnapalot, I sought out the services of a pleasant, elderly Hispanic woman with a speech impediment whose name I don't recall but who might as well have called herself Leatherface because the carnage she left behind south of my equator was fairly comparable to that of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

As I entered the salon, I was met at the door by Satan. My first thought was that she definitely chose the right profession, because this woman's height placed her face directly in my crotchal region. Now, I know I'm somewhat of an Amazon yeti when it comes to height, but seriously? This lady was a quasi-dwarf, and frankly her stubby little arms freaked me out just a bit. She asked me if it was my first wax, and when I answered yes, she gave me this devilish smile and replied, "Don't worry. I'll be gentle for your first time." I was suddenly reminded of one of my early highschool boyfriends who honestly believed that those same words would convince me to drop my panties in the backseat of his mom's station wagon. I seriously considered sprinting for the door at that point, but reconsidered because I wasn't wearing the right shoes and the likelihood of me tripping, falling, injuring myself and then being held against my will while hot wax was drizzled on my genitals far outweighed the possibility of me actually escaping. So I stifled the urge and followed her into the torture chamber.

Once in the "massage room" (HA!) I got nekkid and laid down on a table while the lisper senselessly rambled on about shit I could have cared less about because HELLO, I'M ABOUT TO GET SOME HAIR RIPPED OFF OF MY COOCH. At one point, she asked me where I work, and when I named the nearby hospital at which I'm employed, she asked, "Did someone you work with suggest that you come here?"

"Um, no." I replied. "I don't exactly share my feminine hygiene issues with my coworkers. Only strangers on the internet."

"I see," she said. "I was only asking because I did a Brazilian on a nurse from your hospital a few days ago and was wondering if you knew her."

Please don't tell me her name, please don't tell me her name. I silently begged.

Thankfully, she quickly changed the subject once I informed her that finding out which one of my fellow nurses is bare below the belt was not on the top my list of priorities. Instead, she returned her focus to my nether regions and began inspecting my fully grown Chia Pet as if she were the judge at the International Dog Show and my poodle was a contender for best in show. Then she took a popsicle stick and started slopping gobs of scalding hot wax onto my Death Valley and then- now this nearly gave me a full-blown panic attack- she started blowing on it. ON ME. I just about fell off that table right then and there.

As she started ripping the top layer of skin from my best friend, I had to make a very conscious effort to calm myself both physically and mentally. I tried to think of happy things- kittens playing with balls of yarn and bratty children sinking into vats of quicksand- but all the while my vagina was screaming, "NOOOOOOOO!" at the top of it's little vagina lungs.

Once she started working her way into the inner crevices of my Grand Canyon, I started praying to every higher power that may or may not exist to PLEASE, MAKE IT STOP, because this type of punishment should be reserved for the likes of deplorable, beastly human beings such as Saddam Hussein and Martha Stewart. I nearly stopped her and walked right out of there with a vag-hawk, but managed to keep my composure and remain on the table. Still, it seemed that the more tender the area she was working on, the hotter the wax and slower the rip. Then I heard her say something that I can't imagine ever wanting to hear, under ANY circumstance, "a little bit of bleeding is normal after your first time." I may or may not have blacked out for a few minutes after hearing those words, because I really don't remember much more after that.

When she finished mutilating the front of my love nugget, she told me to flip over and spread my legs. Thinking that way too many moments of this experience closely mirrored times I have spent in the back of a station wagon, I obliged and then closed my eyes tightly to prepare for the worst. She spread my cheeks and proclaimed, "Well you don't have much hair back here!" To which the only response I could think of making was, "Thanks."

When she was finally finished, I walked out of there looking and feeling like a stripper with a pole shoved up my ass, but DAMN was my snatch smooth. I think I might just do it again!


Happy Friday the 13th!

Sorry I haven't been able to blog much lately, but the stolen internet that I hijack from the coffee shop across the street isn't working, which, I mean, I'm really glad I don't pay for that shit because otherwise I'd be totally pissed right now. In the meantime, I'm deciding whether I should be a responsible citizen and start paying for the 'net rather than continuing down the felonious path I've been traveling on for the past 3 years.

In the meantime, enjoy your Friday, and don't get too spooked!




I can't NOT share this with the blog world. The humiliation is priceless. She thanked me by pissing on my bed again. Fucking awesome.


Because Nobody Believes That the Gulf Coast is Really a Coast.

I think it's time I share with you, my readers, the fact that in a few short months, I will no longer be blogging to you from the (not so) great state of Texas. I'm ditching this shit-hole like Brad ditched Jen and I'm not looking back. Calfornia is my Angelina, and if that makes me a lesbian then so be it. I'd munch Calfornia's carpet until kingdom come, and then I'd brag about it to my friends and make sure Texas hears all about our love affair so it can become bitter and jealous and settle for some lesser attractive state like Tennessee because everyone knows Tennessee has a great personality, but let's face it, Tennessee is no California, although I'd totally make out with Tennessee behind California's back because even though it's aging and balding and slightly overweight, Tennessee's still got it going on. You follow?

I'm making my first trip to the west coast at the end of the month to evaluate the scenery and pin point an area in which I want to reside. Then the official move will happen around February of next year.

I just need a CHANGE. I need to get out of Texas. I need to take advantage of my opportunities while I'm still (relatively) young and able-bodied. I want to play on the beach. I want to stalk celebrities. I want beautiful weather. I want to see and do things that are only real in movies. I want to snort coke off the top of a urinal in a night club with the LA Lakers' assistant towel boy. I want to sleep with the entire road crew of a famous rock band. I want to run over homeless people with my MINI. I want to be stuck in hellacious traffic at all hours of the day and night. I want to stand in line for 8 hours only to be denied entrance to Britney Spears' newest dance club. I want to meet Mickey Avalon.

As a nurse, I have the opportunity to travel wherever I want, throughout the country or the world, and get compensated quite well for it. My travel expenses are paid, my rent and utilities are paid, my apartment comes fully furnished, health benefits are included, sign-on and completion bonuses are offered, and I am able to dictate the time, place and field in which I want to work, as well as how long I want to work there. So basically, I'm outta here so fast I'll be lucky if I remember to pack a toothbrush.

Expect to be hearing more about this impending move as the time nears, because for now everything is just in the planning stages. I'll be flying into LA later this month to survey the area (thanks, Haf!), and if anyone wants to show me around then holla atcha girl. I could definitely use some guidance!

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