What A Soft Bunny You Have.

I feel the urge to blog, but am at a loss for a solid topic.  Because I'm impulsive when left alone to my own devices and the voices ... I've decided to just fucking do it anyway... with no direction and see what happens. 

Anything of real interest, or gossip worthy can't be typed as once again, people who I actually know in real life read this shit sometimes.  Cant have them knowing shit I dont want them to know.... like how much shit I talk about them when they're not around. So all the good stuff must be saved for text with the bff, aka Liv as pre-disclosed in the previous post. 

Oh! That reminds me. Speaking of Liv - ever heard how some men name their junk? It's usually something laughable and dumb like Tiger ... let's be honest here guys: it's really not as great as you think it is.  In my experience, or the word-of-mouth experience of women I know - any man and I mean ANY man who brags about his junk is a fucking liar. You wanna talk about how big it is?  You probably can't get it up.  And what good is a giant mansicle if it's always all melted?  

If you say shit like how you've never had any complaints- that just means to your face.  I'm willing to bet that you also haven't had many repeat customers, either.  

The only way, ONLY way to know if your junk is up to par boys is if she doesn't walk away pissed and comes back again and again. Even that isn't fool proof. Some chicks are just dumb.  Ya, I said it. 

If your shit is actually great, and you're actually great with it - you won't need to brag about it.  So cut that shit out will ya???

I got off topic, but then again I never really laid out an exact topic so get off my back about it. Shit. As I was saying - know how some men name their junk? Well me and my girls started a trend to do the same. It all started as a joke. Somebody said I should call my ho-ha Suzy. That way, if I'm ever actually getting any, it could be like a secret code. The example was given to me: Out in a public place with the imaginary man I'm seeing. The urge hits. He lays down code by saying to me, in plain view of anybody: "Suzy just texted me. Says she wants to meet up in a few minutes" 

I thought this was hilarious as shit.  I told Jamie (midget dance off) about this funny conversation and she completely lost her shit. And so did her boyfriend. It wasn't too long before she informed me that her boyfriend thought Suzy was an outdated name but he was going to roll with it and as such, has decided to now call her  -V-  Bernadette. I almost died.  There for a little bit, it was all "How's Suzy?"   "Bored. she's going to pack her shit and leave me soon. How's Bernadette?" 

*You should be laughing right now. I am*

Over time, the nickname was shared with a few other friends and eventually Liv, who jumped on the bandwagon  I honestly can't remember how it came to be and I'll have to ask her to refresh my memory so that I can clarify, but Liv calls her shit "Bunny". I think she said it had something to do with needing petted or something. God, I hope she didn't say it was because it was really furry. Awkward.  

Anyway, a mutual friend of ours calls hers her kitty. And it apparently has teeth. I'm still not sure what that means, but it's fucking hilarious. Bunny does not have teeth. Suzy is bored. And Bernadette... well, Bernadette is hosting to someone many years her senior so I'm sure Bernadette is doing just fine. 

Today, Liv sent me a text about something shameful she did. She expected me to shake my finger at her and I kind of did. She's a big girl and makes her own decisions and we've ALL been there. But, as the bff - it's my job to love her through her shit and tell her to cut it the fuck out. Instead of lecturing Liv on her indiscretions,  I instead said:  "fuck it. it is what it is. you did what you did. you were safe. it's over. Now, cut that shit out or I'll lock Bunny in a fucking cage!"  This, was apparently the advice she needed me to provide because her response was "Yes. Lock her up and never give me the key. You know, until really necessary." 

I'm not sure what qualifies as "really necessary" though, so I'm torn. When is it okay to morally support my best bunny getting petted? 

Warm Moist Places

It's not what you think. Perverts. Shit, who am I kidding? It's totally what you think.

In today's exciting adventure of "Tyra talks random shit about really random shit" we'll explore the exciting habitat of the rare and endangered, rarely seen underoo spider. I'll also give the answer to the question asked by millions of virgins the world over: Why do nice guys always finish last?

Get ready kids! This one is going to make my fingers bleed.

To start, let me say that my life has *finally* made some drastic changes. I've taken a new position which kicked my late nights and holidays and rotating weekends to the curb. Good fucking ridden! Yes, you're now blog-stalking the proud owner of a fancy pants new office and a 9-5 type schedule. I know what you're thinking: It's about fucking time! Well, you're actually probably thinking "Ya ya ya... get to the funny shit, already"   - I'm getting there, I promise. Keep your panties on. Actually... seriously.. keep them the fuck on! You'll see why that's so uber important later in the read. The reason why I'm droning on and on about my new position is because for the first time since my *dun dun dun* divorce, I have a "normal" visitation schedule. This means that I now have a few nights a month where I'm neither working, nor do I have my children. This is important because well, what the fuck am I supposed to do during that time? I'm still figuring it out. Know what else I'm figuring out? I'm getting fucking old. This was made apparent to me when I went out with the bff for St.Pattys Day. My first night out since New Years taught me 2 things: 

1) I cant drink like I used to. Thought I could. I was wrong. 

2) Lesson 1 taught me that 3 hours of fun = 12 hours of feeling like shit.

Still, good times were had. Sort of. Kind of. Well, drunk times were had and that's close enough, right???

Anyway, fast forward to the following Thursday night. I'm at home, alone. Comfy in my jammies getting settled in to watch some serious Vampire Diaries. Seriously. Bare with me.. the funny shit is coming. I swear!

Long story short, I was kind of friend red-carded into meeting the bff out at a local wings place. She knows that I'm writing this and asks not to be called by name. I really can't blame her on this one. Feeling generous, I gave her the opportunity to choose her screen name. She's fucking lucky, too because I had planned on just calling her Wankette. Alas, she chose Olivia. Aka Liv. Ya, I know... Wankette is like waaaay funnier. She doesn't care. So - Liv it is.

As I was saying. I was sitting around in sweats, waiting impatiently for Ian Summerholder to take off his shirt, when Liv texted me and asked me to meet her out for a few. You see, she was going on a date. Why did she need me there? You'll see..

Several hours of "Oh my fucking God Liv, you said you'd be there at 9. I got dressed for fucking nothing. Im not doing this shit. Hurry the fuck up or Im taking my bra back off" ... Liv finally showed up. I arrived shortly afterward and walked into the most awkward situation. Like ever. Like Taylor Swift ever.   I approach the tiny table, clearly made just for two and proceed to take the fuck over and plop my shit down, demanding a beer. This poor dude looked at me like I had personally just locked his dick up in a clear plastic cone- like the kind dogs wear after surgery to keep from licking their junk. Yes, he thought me an offending cock-blocker. Well, news for you kiddo: She wasn't going to give it up anyway because you're a fucking tool. Why else would she have to call me in for back-up? Ex-fucking-actly! 

Okay, so I shouldn't be so mean. This kid is actually pretty nice and aside from some weird ass teeth, he wasn't bad looking. The down-side? He's fucking boring as shit! 

Take note here virgins! Wanna know why nice guys always finish last??? Because you're fucking boring as shit! Seriously! Grow a pair! Mine are bigger than yours, and that is not a compliment to me. I already know I have huge balls. Where the fuck are yours?????

Now that the PSA is over... fast-forward through me cracking jokes, and making home-boy feel about as big as my pinky toe. Ya, the situation was awkward but, fuck it. I didn't put on a bra for nothing. I had a beer and my best friend. Good times were inevitable. 

At one point during our oh, so stimulating conversation which consisted of Liv and I bantering back and forth like we hadn't just spent the entire fucking day texting, while Matt piped in with approximately 4 words every hour or so.... the topic turned to underwear. How did we get there? I dont fucking know dude. How am I supposed to know how my brain works? It never effing listens to me! Anyway... soon as panties were on the table, figuratively, Mr. I'm never getting laid this decade decided to pipe in with an interesting bit of info. He states how he knows that Liv never doesn't wear panties because she's afraid of bugs getting into her ho-ha. 

First thought: How the fuck does this tool know this information about her, and I don't?

Second thought: What the fuck is wrong with my best friend if bugs in the crotch is a legit fear for her?

So I say the following:

"First, how the fuck do you know that about her, and I don't? Second, what the fuck is wrong with you if getting bugs in your ho-ha is a legit fear for you??"

**I told you I had no brain to mouth filter.**

Liv proceeds to tell me that she once heard some horror story about a giant spider being found in some womans junk during and ER visit. She said : And I fucking QUOTE:  

"I figure that ya know, they like warm, moist places. And I guess I kind of feel like the underwear provides some sort of barrier against angry vagina attacking spiders or something."

Yes, she's fucking awesome! 

It took me half of a beer and some serious thought sorting before I could finally respond. I was dumbfounded. That like, never happens. 

I came back with a long ass lecture which went something like this:

Liv, first of all- I love you. Secondly, I truly appreciate your fear of all things creepy-crawly. Next, I've actually witnessed insects living in bush while working in ER. It's not pretty. But most importantly, Liv - as tight as your fucking pants are, I seriously doubt that would ever be a real possibility for you. Like ever. Itsy-bitsy could never never make it up your water spout Liv. Is that a protective measure, as well? Like when you try on pants ... do you hop up and down and think "Yup. No spiders getting up these bitches. I'll take 'em!"?? 

Everyone laughed, of course because in the moment - and when filling in all the witty shit that I said and then forgot because like I said... I'm getting old... 2 beers and I start forgetting shit. 

My game is off tonight. My bad yo. When I mapped this blog out in my head, it flowed far more smoothly and made me laugh way more. I'll just have to try again tomorrow or something. 

In the mean time, keep your panties on!