Why am I such a nice bitch?

I have this amazing ability to disregard all thought of myself and be overly massively insanely generous to a fault. Giving way to much of myself, time, energy and funds to people who I care for. It always seems that I regret these actions. I've never met a person, to date, that has been truly grateful for anything and made me feel appreciated. The moment I do one thing wrong, all my previous actions are flung apathetically out the window, and I am left the evil bitch who likes to stomp of people's heart with my stilettos.

Yet I never seem to learn my lesson. Am I a glutton for punishment? Or am I just a moronic bleeding heart destined to keep repeating the same mistake over and over again with different people?

And the small naked gold man goes to...

As I sat at my desk this morning, staring blankly at my computer screen, willing small serpents to rise from my filling cabinet and eat my office building (but spit me out of course), I received a twitter message on my phone. I practically jumped out of my panties since it was dead bone quite and I had forgotten to put my phone on vibrate. Instead I just settled on shrieking a girly yelp and then giving myself a dirty look for betraying my cool demeanor. I opened my phone and was happily surprised it was a tweet from my favorite blogger I affectionately refer to as Blog Andy aka WildArs. It said check the 'ol blog today, and to my surprise and extreme elation I saw I had been one of three happy awardees of the Superior Scribbler award! Since being bestowed such award made my little blog heart go a-pitter-patter, I decided Blag Andy was now going to be my new blog husband and, on a side note, I would continue the sharing of Love.

But before I get there I would like to thank pop tarts for keeping me well sugared in the morning, various bad music for always encourage my mentally retarded state, boys for being douche bags that provide endless amounts of material, and booze. Ah booze, how you've stood by me through the good times and the.... ok ok turn off the music I'm done already!

Here are "rules" of the scribbler. I will expect nothing less then totally disregard and hatred for any authoritative musings, but I will provide them all the same.

• Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends.
• Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author & the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award.
• Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog, and link to This Post, which explains The Award.
• Each Blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List.

The price is right biatches, come on down:

So@ from Starting Over at 24: Only he can make mega man look good. Navigating through the single world isn't easy, I share your pain man, hang in there and get yourself a little tail already, k?

Shelly D. from Shelly D. Louise: Can you be my home girl? Oh wait you already are! What other person will write about legends of the hidden temple, the Druggers non-kissing requirements, and first date staplers at the same place? Oh and she can drink a mean amount of JD!

Just say NO to Jager Shots with Guys in Masks!

So remember dear old Casanova from a land a far? Well let me tell you a new story... sit on my knee, hold tight to your binkey and listen to my spiderweb...

When we last left our merry little frolickers Maid Andi (the evil little snipe) had penned an agreement for our young heroin Maid (mwah) to accompany Sir Casanova on said outing. Our young maid, with slight trepidation, asked if Casanova wouldn't mind joining her and the gypsies for a night of tomfoolery and spirits. The night commenced with merriment and general positive thoughts all around. It ended with our Maid losing a little bit of her frock over Casanova's wiley hands and an agreement to continue their courting in the near future.

Flash forward a month or so, and we find our young courtiers jolly in their snarky non-relationship humor. They've settled into a nice little friendship with benefits.

Back to present time because I'm having a hard time finding medieval words for various naughty acts. Casanova happen to be attending a party at my cousin Monique's house. The day is spent laying around playing Rock Band 2, chasing Pedro the Chiwawa around, watch The Zohan (which I have to admit was surprisingly funny!), and getting gorgeous in preparation for Casanova's arrival. Around 6, Monique and I hightailed it to the liquor store for some provisions and munchies and scooted back the house just in time to watch out guests arrive. As Casanova strolled in behind me I was distracted by the flurry of activity and regretted the cursory hug and smile I gave him instantly. "I got here right behind you. I watched you walk in," he said as he slipped past me into the kitchen. I felt disturbed as I thought, how can I find that cute and a little creepy at the same time?

The night was a bevvy of tequila, flip cup, stolen kisses against the pool table and Nerf wars. Everything was going quite nicely until the one moment when my memory slows to this one point. It's the clearest memory of the night. I see myself looking up at a fellow party goer who has just challenged my "manhood", and smiling evilly up at his half paper masked face, I look down to the table and see the sweat dripping from the freshly chilled Jager bottle. My mind is to cloudy to remember the horror of Jager mixing so I grasp it firmly by the base and giggly pour two black death Jager shots, slam them down in front of Mask guy and challenge him right back. He hesitates, shakes his head no and starts to back away like I've just placed a schnauzer sized Piranha in front of him. I give him that "grow a pair and man up" look, he smiles back and grabs his shot. Clink, clink, down the hatch.

Twenty Minutes later we end the night throwing up in each bathroom. Yes, I actually threw up and brought another party goer down with me! Apparently neither of us were man enough. Casanova attempted to hold my hair back before I kicked him out and crawled into bed to pass out and curse Jager for the rest of my life.

Moral of our story kids?
Never drink Jager with a man in a paper mask!

Surprising Pro of our Story: Casanova still wants my puking ass! Go figure. The next day was spent cuddling on the couch, rubbing my belly and watching the Packers. Now that's a better party!