Men Have Been Killed Over Less, I'm Sure

OH MY GOD. I had the busiest weekend ever!!! That was also one of the least true statements made ever!! Well, no I was very very busy lounging. Lots and lots of that. My favorite activity ever, hands down. Lounging. Due to a recent psychotic break where I imagined I had shitpots of money to spend on clothes, I was at least decked out in the finest of lounging attire. Layers! Chunky sweaters! Cashmere cardis! And I made sure to actually change outfits during various commercial breaks, so at least the tornado of clothing strewn about my room makes it look like I had a whirlwind of a weekend. Though one costume change found me in my new favorite J. Crew denim shirt and grey sweats. Not bad, except that that's like my mom's lounging UNIFORM. I dress like a 60 year old. Rad. Speaking of my dear mom, it was her birfday yesterday and I bought her this book purely based on the sole fact that every EVERY single time I look at its cover I SQUEAL AND GIGGLE WITH GLEEEEEEEEE and feel like picking him up and kissing him and looooving him to pieces!!!

THIS IS THE BEST FACE EVARRRRRR!!!! If you felt no tingles and jingles of utter delight and schmoopieness when you saw this, we are no longer friends.

Turns out the book is totally awesome and hilarious too, so now I can recommend it based on more than just something to display in your home so as to NEVER BE SAD AGAIN!!

Back to my crazy busy weekend. I watched the incredibly relevant films known as Good Morning Vietnam and Extreme Measures (no, not the recent one, the one from 96 with Hugh Grant and Gene Hackman,. Never heard of it? I am shocked.) Every time I watch a Gene Hackman movie, the poor sod next to me is forced (by me) to play the "Name 3 Movies Where Gene Hackman Plays a Good Guy" game. No small feat. Then I watched four hundred and twelve episodes of Bang for Your Buck and House Hunters.

Ok, as you may recall from last time, I was blathering on about how Boyfriend basically thugs all my favorite things under the thin thin guise of sharing. In a quick jab to the chest of irony, this is what went down Saturday night. He nips off to date night with Sparky OF COURSE, and I am left with my dear friends STV, drunk-dialing my mom, and feeding the cat some catnip and cracking myself up in the process because she jams her whole face in it and then destroys whatever vessel I served it to her on (paper towel, post-it, etc.) (Cause plates are for peeeeeeeeple.) Then I totally shared my Ruffles with her, I felt it was a nice stonery touch. (ps what effing cat eats potato chips??) Then apparently because of a contact high, I stared into the fridge for ten minutes, finally deciding to finish my super special carb friendly lime jello and whip cream concoctions (ignoring the previous consumption of potato chips, which I'm pretty sure have carbs). Jello, check. Whip cream...... where's the damn whip cream??? This can not be happening because I am already hip to Boyfriend's untethered addiction to canned whip cream. He may be huffing them, it's that level of seriousness. They last all of 30 seconds in our house. To prevent exactly this travesty, I did this:

And by Smiley Face I mean, YOU, ASSHOLE! I'm talking to you!

So clearly, even a really absent-minded selfish prickface would not be too much of a knob to get this message, right? I mean, it's hard to miss. Also not hard to miss:
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MY MOTHEREFFING WHIP CREAM

IN THE MOTHEREFFING GARBAGE!!!!!!

This is unacceptable. This is war. I hope you guys will write me letters when I'm in prison for murder.

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