I have been less than diligent in my blogging efforts. I highly doubt any of y’all noticed, but Lindsay has (not one of you has come for the funny, and stayed for the food). I don’t know if it is simply my lack of content, or the fact that people have been saying, “Oh, I just love you and Jay’s blog!” So, allow me to set the record straight…Lindsay does 99% of all the work for this here blog. I am simply riding her double stitched coattails and enjoying the praise of you readers. She posts the writings, edits the pictures and edits all of my posts dyslexic horribly (get it?). She’s a one-woman blogging machine. I am the jester who occasionally pops up and uses too many words that require asterisks in place of letters (sh*t, f*ck, godd*mn, & d*ckhead). With that being said…let’s get this f*ckin’ blog started!
Relationships are difficult from time to time and that is when they often turn into “relationsh*ts” as Dane Cook would say. It doesn’t happen that much with us, but when it does, it is normally between the hours of 11pm – 2:30am. I think this maaaaaaaaaaaaaaay have something to do with the fact that alcohol brings Lindsay’s emotions to skin level, and that it makes my fuse for tolerating drama as short as my penis (meaning it only takes 12 minutes for me to get angry). We’ve had two good “relationsh*ts” recently and the best one was over a bar I didn’t want to go. The ironic part of this whole story was that the bar was called “On The Roxx.” You could say that that bar really put our relationship “on the rocks.” Seriously, that’s a great pun.
Last week when we went to eat dinner with Jay’s dad at Velo Fellow, Jay somehow obtained a plastic spider ring. You know, the kind that becomes boring to regular humans after age 8. The ring came home with us from dinner, and I threw it away 3 times before I realized it. just. wouldn’t. leave.
What you are about to see is so terrifying that I can’t even post it on the home page. It’s really really really gross.
It isn’t food…
And it isn’t nudity…
And it has NOTHING to do with premarital sex…
Awhile ago, before I met Jay (or during one of the 8,393 times we were broken up), two of my single girlfriends and I were discussing the merits of dating the formerly fat and how fabulous it is. Overall, the formerly fat tend to try harder at life because they’re not used to skating through situations on good looks, and they develop good personalities due to years of mocking and only having one’s parents as friends.
If you have never visited this pitiful ode to a dysfunctional relationship before you might not know that Jay, my better/worse/more sarcastic half used to be fat. Real fat.