In other news, I decided it would be a really great idea to give myself a home Brazilian wax.
I would not suggest anyone attempt that.
For two hours, I sat in the bathroom, juxtaposing in an attempt to wax my nether regions, wailing and tearing my pubic hair out in jerky, hesitating motions. I’m pretty sure at one point, I went into shock. Once I’d pasted all four of my labia together and bled from my ass crack a little, it was done and I now have a “clean work space”.
It’s been a big few days, basically.

Last night, Rin and I went for a night on the town, where I was called "beautiful" and a "heifer" in the course of two hours. The good Lord giveth, and the good Lord taketh away.

How long has it been since I dated a guy in a punk rock band? I think the last time I did, I was frightened and confused by hair on my crotch and basic algebra.

I was super psyched to buy my anti-fart pills as massive amounts of farts have been exploding out of my ass all of the time. Then the sad news from Erin. "Antiflatulants" mean more, bigger farts! Apparently it gathers all the farts together and creates more massive farts.
Note to all other fart-pill takers: "Gas relief" just means your body will release farts to the relief of your abdomen.

Have you ever been showering with someone, totally accidentally farted, stank up the whole room, and blamed it on faulty plumbing, so convincingly that your partner smells the water coming from the showerhead and goes, "yeah, maybe it is. The plumbing in this building sucks."

Last night, I was brewing myself a delicious pot of coffee in the weirdest coffee-brewer of all time (a contraption that you put on top of a pot, place the filter in and pour boiling water through). Suddenly, a great spasm seized me, starting in my back and rattling its way through my arm, sending it blasting wayward into the coffee-making-contraption, spilling the boiling contents in an area that was approximately a mile in every direction. This sadly, included my thighs, which are either red due to the burns or, like the victims of a nuclear blast, my red pants have been burnt into my flesh.

how the fuck does one fry a pork chop?

Pete isn't dead, but he grew a moustache like Burt Reynolds' so he may as well be.

Edit: I wrote my mom an emailing explaining our surgery. In the message, I was trying to explain that my wound had pus in it, and I wrote "I have a pussy wound". Heh. She replied with this: you retard.

Step one: Take a deep breath, in preparation for the eternal struggle between woman and nature - control top pantyhose.
Step two: Congratulate yourself on your braving no underwear, in the fight against panty-lines.

Step three: Begin the slow decent from toes to as high as they'll go. Look forward to the smoothing out of lumpy bumps.

Step four: Realize, while the tights are 20% over your ass, that there's a hole the size of a twonie in the crotch.

Step five: Wonder just how noticeable it really could be, being that it's tucked up there. Realize that alcohol and the inevitable flailing limbs will create a money shot.

Step six: Weigh options.
A) Take off tights and start over
A1) Issues arise from this, such as once again beginning the fight and potentially tearing them.

Step seven: Put panties on over the tights, after inspecting them and realize there's a hole in those, too.

Step eight: Grow despondent over
A) Life
B) Wardrobe

A foreign guy, in a fit of rage, just told me to "eat all his ass hair and go die".
English as a second language insults are the funniest kind.

But even worse, I got a Handi-snack without the little red cheese spreader.

My life is a tragedy.

I am the Jacques Cartier of va-jay-jay.

Vaginas are fuck. Ing. Terrifying.

If I was a dude, I think I would have shat upon seeing my first snatch. All that skin! All those folds and nooks and crannies. It looks like a pastrami sandwich.

Today, playing Mario Kart, I fully almost had a "Nintendo moment" and hurled my controller (complete with steering wheel) right through the TV after taking the squids and turtle shells way too personally. That I didn't, I feel, shows tremendous growth on my part.

Tonight, my farts smell exactly like the pizza I just ate, complete with the nuances of Italian salami and mushrooms. The delicate bouquet of mozzarella and Pizza 73's own special marinara sauce is perfectly complimented by the rich yeasty smell of crispy, soft crust.

Last night Sheri told me that the spinning around of a strange girl was actually me putting her in a headlock and sort of trying to spin around, but mostly just running in a circle.

I have no power in my house, but at least I've got diarrhea.

Sometimes, on those days you're a little down in the dumps and can't seem to shake the ickies, all you need to do is pull yourself up by the bootstraps and bake yourself a cake, ice a dick on it, and represent magical ejaculation with rainbow jimmies.

Even with all this funny, I probably skipped about 50 entries because they contained the name "Rob" and to be honest with you, I'm not ready to head down that nostalgic and painful road just yet.