Don’t Read This Post, You Don’t Care

Today I write this post from my breakfast room table while sitting next to Jason.  He and I, coincidentally, are wearing matching t-shirts.  Well, mine has the logo written across my boobs in sparkles, his doesn’t.  I think he is a little jealous. I have no idea what to write about, so I will write about him being here to visit.

First, he got in Friday afternoon with a HUGE bag.  I swear, he packed like a girl.  The bag was heavy, plus he had his computer bag.  I brought him back to the house, where my little man (who has a man crush on him) proceeded to say, “Where are my presents and when are you going to open yours?”  Jason stared off into space while I told my kid it was rude. Then we showed him around the house.  His bag was so heavy he had a difficult time getting it up the stairs.

8336838890 f90efd16ca h Dont Read This Post, You Dont CareHe came downstairs and made friends with the doggies.  My evil dog, Bella, fell madly in love with him and I think proposed marriage.  For her honor, I challenged him to a duel of arm wrestlin’ where he hardly beat me.  I think he cheated but that is a story for another day.   I did tell him he would have to sleep outside and not get to visit if he didn’t relinquish the betrothal.  He stared off into space and then gave in to my demands.

Later, I force fed him gruel and slop.  He complained the entire time because he is a super picky eater.  I swear, never invite the guy to your house.  He demanded a Christmas stocking full of stuff and presents: shoes, three shirts, jeans, and a dog toy. Then he insisted that I hand out gifts for us.  He was so rude by giving me a freaking crap load of gifts: Coke Santa Dont Read This Post, You Dont CareA shirt, a collectors edition of one of my favorite books, a cup, a daily journal, the family a collectors soda, my hypothetical son his special baseball cards from childhood, and my hypothetical daughter an MP3 player.  I thought it was very rude that he didn’t get me any diamonds.  Plus he didn’t buy my husband that Porsche he wanted. You would think with the all the big bucks in taxes I pay for teachers, he would at least try to be generous.

More stories to come!

 

x,

Becca

Lady or Not… Here I Come!


Comments

Don’t Read This Post, You Don’t Care — 59 Comments

  1. I do care, don’t presume to tell me I don’t. For your ignorance of my general capacity to give a shit I feel that the porsche made of diamonds should be delivered at extraordinary cost to me via The Most Liveable City @ Arse-End of the World, Somewhere in the South Pacific. Do it or the dog gets it (I have a small white fluffy dog that is willing to be sacrificed by proxy – we have yet to negotiate terms).

  2. Happy New Year. I just woke up from NYE party, baby. So I am a bitsy in the unknown. ,-) You should know I do care. Ok, I’ll stop here. For now just this: Porsches don’t beat Lamborghinis (esp. Countach or Espada). cheers and buano notte the Gurk

  3. Rebecca, your posts always give me a chuckle. I’d really like to “follow” your blog but not quite courageous enough to expose you to some of my more conservative (humorless?) friends and family members! I will continue reading, however; and definitely will recommend your site to those I know will enjoy it. Meanwhile, HAPPY YEAR TO YOU AND YOURS – including Bella, Jason et al.

  4. Now wait a minute! There was NO big bag of gifts at the Denver Greyhound Terminal. There wasn’t even a little bag. And I traveled all that way just to see him! I would have settled for a nice Toyota and a cubic zirconium, but NOOOOOOO.

  5. You made up for him being rude by feeding him gruel and slop, but you can still sprinkle coal dust and sugar in his bed sheets while he’s there next time for added measure.

  6. Okay then sparkling boobs I won’t
    bother reading this one then :) lmao
    Another chucklesome story, but it
    would have been nice to receive a
    diamond or twenty :)

    Andro xxx

Oh you know you want to give verbal ejaculation a try. Spit it out!