yeahimadork.com

Thanks to everyone for their words of support in me putting myself even further into debt so my cranky cat can live. He’s still at the hospital, and the doctor says he might be able to come home tomorrow. I hope so. My house feels empty without his furry big ass laying around all the time.

Awwww. Isn’t he precious in a “get that camera out of my fucking face you’ve taken 8451456478974564 pictures of me already today” kind of way?

Don’t judge my unmade bed. And that comforter is now a lovely shade of gray, thanks to many washings with bleach to kill pee smells.

And I got a carrier (top loading - thanks Loopy!) to take him home in so he can’t escape while I’m driving. No more claws in my boobs, thank you very much.

I cried like a little whimpering sissy at the end of “Six Feet Under” on Sunday. I’m not going to go into detail since I got yelled at last time, but I will say that I thought the ending was perfect. I watched the last part of it again tonight and cried just as hard.

People like Alan Ball make me sickeningly envious of their talents.

Ok. So, since I am not above using my own glaring humiliations to entertain you monkeys, I am going to regale all of you with yet another dating tale, courtesy of my pride and dignity.

About two months ago, I met this guy Dave online. He was nice, and funny. I wasn’t particularly impressed with his picture, but he called me all the time and wanted to see me, so we set a date.

We planned on watching “Napoleon Dynamite”(his favorite movie - not mine, but I’ll deal with it) and hanging out. We sat and talked for a long time. Then, while we were watching the movie, he jumped closer to me and started kissing me. It was nice at first, but as soon as he started using his tongue, he just jammed it down my throat and started doing this jackhammer-type thing that was not appealing. Or arousing. Or good. Or anything.

He started to really get into it, so I stopped him and told him that he may as well stop right then, because it wasn’t going any further (my new-found principles). He said it was cool, and kept kissing me. Being a makeout whore, I wasn’t about to turn that down. Well, as this went on, he started kissing my neck.

Uh-oh. That’s my spot. My “it’s going to be really hard to keep my clothes on if you keep doing that there” spot. I kept wriggling around to get him to stop, but as soon as he realized what effect it had on me, he zeroed in on it, and went crazy. Finally, after about twenty minutes, I had to tell him to stop. So he did, and we just watched the rest of the movie, and talked a little, and then I told him I was tired, and that I had to get up for work early.

Later on, I went to brush my teeth and wash my make up off, and I was horrified by what I saw.

Fucking hickies.

I am 31 years old. I managed to go my whole life without stupid hickies anywhere on me. I had no idea what to do. I couldn’t call in sick to work, because it was a Friday, and no one believes you when you call in sick on a Friday. Not ever having had them, I had no idea how long they would last, so I foolishly hoped that they would fade by morning. And I woke up almost every hour to check on them.

No change.

So, I bit the bullet, and decided the only thing I could do was try to disguise these hideous makeout scars. So, even though it was hot all week, and was supposed to be hot that day, I wore a goddamn turtleneck. But, in perfect “hahahaha! Andria, I laugh at you!” fashion, the turtleneck I have is sleeveless, and I always wear this black sweater over it.

Turtleneck + sweater + hot fucking summer weather = Andria dead in a pool of her own sweat.

As soon as I got to work, Celestia noticed immediately that I was not dressed for the weather.

“Why are you wearing a turtleneck? It’s supposed to be like 90 today!”

…

“Um…”

So, as fast as I could, I came up with the flimsiest excuse I could.

“I used this perfumed lotion, and I broke out. I must be allergic or something.”

“Man, that sucks!”

“Yeah, I know.” So I went to my desk, already hot as hell at 8:30 in the morning, dreading the day I had ahead of me, knowing that I was going to have to tell my perfumed lotion allergy story 100 times. And, to add a little tiny bit of believability to this bullshit story, every once in a while I would scratch my neck and arms and groan uncomfortably.

And the Academy Award for best actress trying to hide the fact that she’s a whore who made out like a horny teenager with some guy she wasn’t even really attracted to to begin with is… Andria!

What was worse was my shithead friends later on that night making fun of me mercilessly all night long for it.

Eh, I’d have done the same if one of my dimwit friends had a bunch of hickies, too.

Cause I’m nice like that.