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Tex Commando

I'm not angry, just outspoken

Tag Archives: Blog

Ok, so I know how to take turns. Brandi writes. Then I write, then she writes again. Not to give too much information (like, really? Me? TMI?), but art should imitate life.

B knows what I mean.

So, I’ll write ONE decent post to your….UMMMMMM…. eight.

Deal? Deal.

You have seven more to go before it’s my turn again. Art. Imitating. Life.

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She said she would do it.

Then her laptop died. I offered her mine. Nope. Not good enough.

THEN, she said she wouldn’t do it until the boxes were all gone.

 

POOF!

They’re gone.

SO WHERE’S THE BLOG POST!?!?! 

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For some reason, I started reading old blog posts from The Other blog. Then Brandi read more and told me about it. Then I read more this morning. And more and more and more. So, here are a few that I thought were particularly excellent. They are in no particular order. Read the comments too. Most of the fun happens in the comments.

The Definition of Marianne

This never got a chance to happen. (read the comments) I need to do this. I need to kick the shit talker’s ass in June. Maybe I’ll give her a week to get settled before I crush her.

Guess what we did today. It’s a many-times-a-year thing. I can’t wait to take Brandi and her kids.

I used to cook like a motherfucker. I even posted RECIPES. I need banana cake now. And ohmyfuckinggod spaghetti and meatballs , I forgot about this one!!!

This is about the time in the life of Cookies 4 Breakfast when I start to really crack myself up. It’s also when I am in the process of losing a dear friendship. It’s also when another better friendship starts to REALLY take shape. It’s about a month into TexCommando. Only a couple more links, and I’ll be done. I promise.

When Jesus Attacks, that asshole Jesus is always fucking my shit up.

The last line STILL cracks me up (you must read this one)

Brandi is at least 13 out of the 18 that I listed. She was before she became the love of my life, and she still is (plus more that I won’t torture you all with).

What do you think? Did I miss anything?

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I am not.

I try to be.

Time and place? I usually can handle it. It’s easier if I am not completely comfortable. Watch out if I am comfortable though. The more outspoken and silly I get, the more I like you. Do we hug regularly?If so, it means that I like you enough to not be afraid of smelling you (I’m weird about smelling people). And if I banter with you, that means I love you.

Sensible? Some people think so. I usually am. I usually can control my impulses and think things through. I try to hold my tongue and be respectful. I DO talk shit sometimes, but doesn’t everyone?

That graceful thing? It’s not always easy when you have something super important and life-altering to talk about. Sometimes you have to just lay it all out there and work backward. That’s what I have been doing for the past two months. That’s what I want to do, and it’s taking all of my good sense and self control to NOT do that. Right now. UGH!!!

I know I am being super vague. I mostly am writing this for myself. You all just get to read my thoughts. Lucky you.

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Everyone should have a B. What’s so great about having a B, you ask? I’ll tell you. That’s why I am sitting here NOT eating my pita chips and hummus and NOT drinking my wine. So I can tell you.

  • A good B will challenge the fuck out of you. If you’re lucky. My B always keeps me on my toes. I can’t NOT be excellent or at least want to be excellent when I am around My B. 
  • A good B will encourage you like there’s no tomorrow. Any B worth a shit will encourage you and encourage you and help you feel like you can conquer the world.
  • A good B will make you laugh at your ridiculousness AND be ridiculous right along with you. When My B and I are sharing the same space, there is always much laughing. Sometimes so much laughing that my face hurts. That’s the BEST!
  • A good B will communicate. How else would someone like ME know how to treat a B like mine? Communication.
  • A good B will accept you, freckles, scars, and all. B appreciates what’s inside. B sees what’s in your heart. B accepts all of it and finds beauty in it.

Ok. So there you have it. Do you have a B?  What does your B do for YOU?

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Who the hell IS she anyway? And why do we care how she got her groove back?

I don’t give a shit about her, but I do know one thing-

20121123-180308.jpgI’M BACK!!

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I have been composing a self loathing, body image hating blog post for the past two days. It’s icky. I’m not even sure I will post it because it’s that icky and uncomfortable.

Instead, I’ll post something else that’s worse.

Someone you don’t want to know: Helen just asked for “some of those delicious brown pussies” for snack.

Me: Wow! The Smiths really do love the colored folks, don’t they? Lolololololol

Someone: We do. I don’t know why people always say I’m racist. I drive all the way to (somewhere an hour away) for brown pussies.

Me: This is going on my blog.

Someone: Good. One of us should post a blog. Lord knows I haven’t lately.

Me: Haha. As soon as I get home I will. This is better than the one that I’m writing now. It’s depressing and self loathing. I’d rather picture you and your daughter eating brown pussies.

Someone: You’re a sick woman. (And it was my daughter and my SON eating brown pussies. Brown pussies are too sweet for me.)

Me: Oh. My bad. Your son and daughter eating pussy together is way better.

Someone: Exactly.

the brown pussies

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