Hello my little chitterlings, how’s every little thing?
Are you all gorged unto gorgeousness on Thanksgiving splendor? Not I.
I only got back stateside on Tuesday night so all I managed to do was putter around the high-fashion disaster zone that is my house, look online at various appliances and whatnots I’ll have to buy and then haul across the border and proceeded to get so overwhelmed I had to stop everything and watch several episodes of King of the Hill in a row, curled in the fetal position eating cheese grits. You know, just like the pilgrims did.
Thanksgiving always slips by me anyway, but today, TODAY, is a day I shall never forget. Not only is November 25th the birthday of my much-missed grandfather, it also the anniversary of the birth of my beloved Xabi Alonso.
but then I start to feel all uncomfortable because I’m pretty sure that many impure thoughts at once can cause aneurism, or at least wrinkles, so I’d better not risk it.
Oh hell, what’s life without a little risk?
Maybe a little more risk?
I’m not gonna lie, I’m totally feeling (though sadly in the figurative sense) the chestal rug situation. It’s not like I object to hairless wonders, the Bulgarian athlete I dated last year was smooth as a dolphin and that was just fine by me, but there’s something to be said for a man who is groomed but not hyper-manscaped.
Of course, whenever I talk about Xabi, I have to reveal my embarrassing Xabi story, which goes like this:
One of the first times, possibly THE first time, Hot Latin Boy ever spent the night at Villa Plumcake, we were all cuddled up on the couch being disgusting and in love and whatnot and watching my special Youtube football playlist and he was extolling my virtues as The Best Girlfriend Ever because not only did I LIKE the sport, I went so far as to compile a playlist of my favorite bits.
Which is when, of course, this came on:
Quickly followed by this (whew! safe!)
aaaand finally this, the most disturbing/hot/slightly endearing (in that they’re clearly being told to smoulder as if their lives depended on it) commercial to ever burn its way onto my retinas.