Nov 24, 2010
I took this photo an hour before I vomited all over the side of the road, somewhere closer to L.A. than to S.F. Somewhere, down the I-5 pelted intermittently by the rain, the idea of how much I could cram into my system had taken itself on as a contest. But against whom? Not Fiendish, his eyes ever so on the road and focus-tight. But four Mad Libs and one pop-errific iPod playlist later, I saw pink. And all over me. My new clay-colored Adidas that I hadn’t worn in a year. They rode quietly in the back, where Fiendish and I could hopefully avoid the vile reminiscences of my privately-competitive binge. Dear God, what a stench. Soooo not OK. I should not have come home feeling the way I did. Drenched, achy, ashamed. And yet, relieved that the hubby was still at work, which gave me a merciful 20 minutes to peel off my trip clothes and hop in the shower. Scrubbing away this food whoredom, I got to thinking about several things: 1. I don’t think I care anymore if gays get equal rights. Based on the barbaric amounts of Taco Bell I was able to cram into my mouth earlier, I felt unaffected by the current statuses of DADT and gay marriage. After all, I still possessed the right to be a fat hog. And if you gave ANY gay fattie the choice of either serving our country or serving him/herself a triple-decker chalupa…oink oink! Piggies are PINK! 2. Our president sucks. In the two years this dullard has been in power, the massive changes we were promised have been few and far between, unlike the gushes of rose-colored matter that erupted from my gut yesterday. That dumb website that lists all his accomplishments…it is a very pretty website. But where the fuck is my free health care? I nearly DIED while puking my guts out off I-5 yesterday! Anyhoo, he plays well with others (ie, Republicans, and other boring Democrats), and he lacks any passion for his beliefs. Even the belief of hating gay people, which he half-heartedly admitted to early in his presidential campaign. He gives awards to the one who hates black people. He looks genuinely bored. He’s not a witch. He’s someone just like you, only bla…nd. 3. I want to vomit in the mouths of people who won’t stop bitching about the body scanners at airports. Didn’t anyone see “Total Recall”? Didn’t the full-body x-ray machine thingies look COOL? Also, if it means that I can get to my flight faster, then scan away. Airports make a technological upgrade for our safety, and we WHINE? Ugh. Same whiny little cunts who nearly kill each other over the latest iPhone, which is connected to a satellite in Heaven that can track your EVERY MOVE. But that’s ok, because you can always leave your iPhone somewhere you are not, thus sticking it to the Man. Right? No. That thing is glued to you like an encrusted bit of day-old barf. Put your fucking toy away, step through the fucking body scanner, and shut the fuck up. 4. I think I hate iPhones. Scrubba-scrubba-scrubba, baby is out of the tubb-a! I felt much better after thoroughly washing all that yucky puke off the bodice. Hubby came home, we kissed, we ate cereal, we went to bed. A day later, I’m kinda sorta craving Taco Bell. Love, Dorian

I took this photo an hour before I vomited all over the side of the road, somewhere closer to L.A. than to S.F.

Somewhere, down the I-5 pelted intermittently by the rain, the idea of how much I could cram into my system had taken itself on as a contest. But against whom? Not Fiendish, his eyes ever so on the road and focus-tight. But four Mad Libs and one pop-errific iPod playlist later, I saw pink. And all over me. My new clay-colored Adidas that I hadn’t worn in a year. They rode quietly in the back, where Fiendish and I could hopefully avoid the vile reminiscences of my privately-competitive binge. Dear God, what a stench. Soooo not OK.

I should not have come home feeling the way I did. Drenched, achy, ashamed. And yet, relieved that the hubby was still at work, which gave me a merciful 20 minutes to peel off my trip clothes and hop in the shower. Scrubbing away this food whoredom, I got to thinking about several things:

1. I don’t think I care anymore if gays get equal rights. Based on the barbaric amounts of Taco Bell I was able to cram into my mouth earlier, I felt unaffected by the current statuses of DADT and gay marriage. After all, I still possessed the right to be a fat hog. And if you gave ANY gay fattie the choice of either serving our country or serving him/herself a triple-decker chalupa…oink oink! Piggies are PINK!

2. Our president sucks. In the two years this dullard has been in power, the massive changes we were promised have been few and far between, unlike the gushes of rose-colored matter that erupted from my gut yesterday. That dumb website that lists all his accomplishments…it is a very pretty website. But where the fuck is my free health care? I nearly DIED while puking my guts out off I-5 yesterday! Anyhoo, he plays well with others (ie, Republicans, and other boring Democrats), and he lacks any passion for his beliefs. Even the belief of hating gay people, which he half-heartedly admitted to early in his presidential campaign. He gives awards to the one who hates black people. He looks genuinely bored. He’s not a witch. He’s someone just like you, only bla…nd.

3. I want to vomit in the mouths of people who won’t stop bitching about the body scanners at airports. Didn’t anyone see “Total Recall”? Didn’t the full-body x-ray machine thingies look COOL? Also, if it means that I can get to my flight faster, then scan away. Airports make a technological upgrade for our safety, and we WHINE? Ugh. Same whiny little cunts who nearly kill each other over the latest iPhone, which is connected to a satellite in Heaven that can track your EVERY MOVE. But that’s ok, because you can always leave your iPhone somewhere you are not, thus sticking it to the Man. Right? No. That thing is glued to you like an encrusted bit of day-old barf. Put your fucking toy away, step through the fucking body scanner, and shut the fuck up.

4. I think I hate iPhones.

Scrubba-scrubba-scrubba, baby is out of the tubb-a! I felt much better after thoroughly washing all that yucky puke off the bodice. Hubby came home, we kissed, we ate cereal, we went to bed.

A day later, I’m kinda sorta craving Taco Bell.

Love,

Dorian

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