there’s no “pre” here. watch out.

Okay, all y’all just listen.

I’m only going to say all this shit once, so pay attention.

Hi. I’m pamie’s uterus.

And let me tell you. I am angry as hell today. Angry! Aaaaangry!

Who’s that talking in the back? Huh? Do you have something to share with the rest of us? Well, do you? Huh? No? Then SHUT UP. I’m talking here. This is my time. You’re on Uterine Time now, people. So shut up or I’ll slap you.

Do you want to be slapped by a uterus? I didn’t think so.

Now. Here. Listen.

Hey Scary Man That Sat Outside Pamie’s Front Steps:

You’re an asshole. She was walking up the street and saw you and knew you were going to be trouble, but you didn’t just start out as trouble, did you? No. You had to wait so pamie could get all paranoid, thinking about all the possible ways you were gonna fuck with her. And just when she had almost made it to the stairs and she was just about free and clear, what did you do? You yelled at her. Now, why do you gotta make a girl holding a bag of tacos run the fifty-yard dash like that? She hasn’t had to do that sprint since the fifth grade. And you know what happens when she’s gotta run all fast like that? It makes me hurt.

Me. The uterus. Hurt. So, I hate you, scary guy. I hate you hardcore.

Hey Cal:

Get your litter-crusted ass out of my face. It’s too early for that.

Hey Christina Aguilera:

Why do you look so trashy in that new Ricky Martin video? Your eyes scared me.

And don’t even get me started on today’s Oprah. All sorts of people whining and complaining about their lives and their husbands and their wives. Makes me tired. If you have an easier time talking to Oprah than your husband? There are problems.

Is there a problem in the back? Huh? No. I’m not judging you. You shut up!

Hey Ray’s Fax Machine:

Thanks for being pissy with me. That’s all I needed was for your 1992 ass to get all funky with me. When I press a button, do what I say, okay? Now, shut up.

Why can’t I just get a taco without someone in line behind me talking my ear off, trying to cut in front of me in line, gabbing to her friends about how wonderful her life is while she starts inching closer to me like she’s going to take pamie’s place in line? Shut up, taco girl.

I’ve only had one cigarette today. And I can’t find coffee anywhere around here and I don’t want to make pamie walk all the way down to the coffee shop. So, to retaliate, I just make her feel really tired so she doesn’t really get any work done. It’s fun. Shut up.

Oh, man. That DSL is going down. I will kill! I will kill! I must have six thousand Doritos right now or someone will die!

Doritos. I think it’s possible to live off of them. I don’t see the harm. Shut up.

Hey! You in the front row! Is that gum? Well, do you have enough for all of us? You don’t? Then I suggest you go out and buy me a nonfat swiss mocha latte from the goddamn coffee bean if you don’t want any problems. Do I make myself clear? Shut up!

Aw, man. Pamie’s drinking all this water like suddenly she can do something about me taking over her body today, and all it does is make me cranky. Crane. Key. I’m all floating around in here, snarfing water, wishing I had a diet coke or something to cut the edge. There’s an edge. I’m on it. The edge. Shut up!

Okay, here are my demands. I want a couch that I can curl up on. Not this leathery, vinyly, cold-ass, drafty, lumpy, cushion-shifting nightmare that takes up a good portion of the living room. I understand that it’s not pamie’s couch to decide, but someone’s always sitting in the comfy chair, and only one person can sit on the comfy chair at a time, and that makes the couch have to be the place for gatherings and sitting around talking with your friends or cuddling, and it’s just an impossible piece of furniture to do all of that with. All you can do with that couch is perch on the edge and work. It’s good for working. Because it keeps your ass cold, so you don’t get too comfy and stop working.

i want coffee in the house that has some sort of automatic maker so that there’s already coffee in the morning. With milk in the fridge. With good coffee. And a clean coffee maker.

I want sephora to send free samples of everything in the world.

I want to go see Snatch, Before Night Falls and Sugar and Spice.

I want Bring it On in my house.

I want a nap.

I want the DSL to work.

I want to figure out where my books went that were right here when I left town the other day but now I can’t find.

I’d like pamie to have more than one bra.

I’d like pamie to feed me much more chocolate than I get in a day.

I’d like the damn dsl to work. Oh, shut up. You quit bitching at me.

That’s it. If I can’t even upload this entry, there’s no reason to go on. Y’all just sit there. Pamie’ll be back tomorrow or something.

Damn. I start talking and everything shuts down. Makes me sick. I’m gonna go make pamie feed me lots of ice cream and then sit around recapping her Gilmore Girls show until she’s crying in the fetal position, wishing there was someone here to hold her and tell her that she’s pretty.

Okay, this uterus is done yelling at you.


“YM Girlz Rule!”
Unfunny Honey

What to do when your crack-up cutie crosses the line?

  • Let his joke bomb. Chuckling when he teases you sends the wrong message.
  • Restrict your own ragging. Don’t expect him to ease up if you can’t.
  • Often, teasing hides insecurity or competition. So a guy who makes fun of your soccer buds may just want a little more positive attention from you off the field.

Or, he’s just an asshole. Shut up! Tease him back. Dish it out as hard as he is and see if he likes it. Maybe y’all find that sexy in that way like when Pink and her boyfriend throw shit at each other and then someone’s ashes and her boy throws a flaming log from the fireplace and Pink burns her hand so he runs over to see if she’s okay and they end up having sex in this burning house because they hate each other so much they just have to fuck each other.

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