Things I Love

A well-needed laugh

Warning: Not for use by those that: 1) Don’t like the F word 2) Those offended by super-mild sexual content or anything that might imply, or make you think of sex 3) Those that don’t like Nine Inch Nails 4) Are offended by hands and 4.5) Those that couldn’t handle a sweaty, young William Shatner

 

And for the record? I hate everything.
Okay, pardon that dramatic, not true statement. I love this amazing wine I picked up at Frys that I’m currently killing off by myself (yes, I’m that awesome).
Oh, and steak. I love cow meat.
I love my baby girls.
I love my cat, Megatron, AKA, furry cuddle-slut.
I love my snake.
I love my friends.
I love running. I love weigh lifting.
I love babies.
I love roses. I love the image of love in my head (hence why I’m becoming okay with being single and emotionally detached, as to not soil it).
I love sex.
I love hiking.
I love people that don’t suck.
I love dark chocolate.
I love music. I love peace and quiet.

Everything else can pretty much eat a horses dick. With ketchup.

 


Lesbians, Music and Milk

 

 

I have certain songs/bands that are my “theme of the week”, meaning for whatever reason, I find myself listening to a particular song/band repeatedly for that time span. There’s no reason for this, it’s just one of my “weird things”.
I keep gravitating to Otep this week, especially this song.

 Just seems to fit, for whatever reason.

I like Otep. Despite the fact that she is too cliché activist/lesbian/vegan/political for my taste, she’s pretty neat (on a side note, she’s one of the few women on this planet that my anti-activist, men-loving, meat-eating, politically ignorant self would actually go out of my way to have sex with).

Speaking of fluids and animal products, something awesome:

I was at work, doing my thing yesterday when out of no where, I became immensely dizzy and developed chest pains, followed with a feeling of panic. A “panic attack” as they are referred to. I have had these acute situations happen here and there over the course of my life, and they suck. After a rush of customers, I went into the break room to see if I had any tea, but all I found was a bottle of whole milk that I brought a few days prior and forgotten about. My body reacted in positive favor at the sight of the milk, so I took it as my cue to drink up. After about forty minutes, I felt like a million bucks. Better than before the attack, even.

There’s something to this.

I love animal fat.

I love music.

I love feeling wonderful.

I love ham.

Fin.