I got a package from Tim Sullivan today. Life is good.
It appears as if my summer cold...a staple of the warmer months...is upon us. I sort of expected to wake up with a hangover after 4 hours of sleep and far too many alcoholic beverages consumed at the Honkeytonk Damnation show (ah, Aaron Weiss...we could have made such perty babies). I did not expect to start rockin' a sore throat, stuffy head, and cough, all of which I have no room for in this busy weekend. I was really dragging something fierce at work. While on hold, I drew what was supposedly my best robot ever while being lulled into a coma by Herman's Hermits' "There's a Kind of Hush". I could not properly function but what I could do is rub a man's round tummy three times. I wasn't granted any wishes or whisked off to an exotic land like that Oz everyone talks about. What I did get was comfort...I didn't feel well and for some bizarro reason, putting my hands on a rather plush stomach (and knowing that he liked the 5 seconds of physical contact we had) and hearing a man laughing and seeing him smiling made me forget that phleghm was taking over my upper quadrants. I need a boyfriend...or at least someone to make me Cup-o-Soup when I'm ill.
Uncle Benjamima Lybargally massaged my sternum last night. He taught his future wife the method and she gave it a whirl. They have magic thumbs, those kids. I wonder if it will be considered odd to ask my next lovah to do this rub as a form of foreplay. Think I'm kidding? My heart beat just a titch faster than usual.
Sidenote.
Aaron Weiss is a dreamboat and my physical ideal for the following reasons:
-he is tall
-his hair...perfection
-he wears belt buckles
-he has a mass quantity of facial expressions
-he drinks a MAN'S drikn
-he smokes cigars
-he like Family guy
-he drives a truck
-his teeth are "Colgate Smile" worthy
-he is old-fashioned, or so I hear
-he has been with the same gal forever (loyal and devoted)
-he plays an instrument
-he can sing
-he seems pretty funny
I think it would be best if he was just cloned and dispensed to all women.
End sidenote.
Trying to muster up the strength to shower for the big comedy club outting scheduled for tonight. I wish I could just go as is but let's face it...I'm an utter grease trap and I don't want to offend my friends this evening. And while the laughter, the chicken fingers, and the Carol-inspired heckling sound fan-fucking-tastic, it seems equally as tempting to stay in my comfy bed with tissues stuffed up my beak, a hoodie pulled up over my slimy and dripping head, and my digital video recorder stuffed with quality programming to make sweet, sick love to. I know I'll end up throwing myself in the tub, even if for a hippie version of bathing, because I don't want to miss out on an evening that it an opportunity for so much chaotic fun, Ol' Kentucky Shark style. It's just lighting that fire under my can that's tuff. Yeah, I said tuff!
I think I like the new Kelly Clarkson song almost more than I like "Maneater" by Hall & Oates.
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