"cupping testicles"

he taught me how to ride a bike.
he also agreed to "father" the children i decide to have like 20 seconds before my ovs shrivel up and fall off.

STOP THE PRESSES.

seriously because, low and behold: i have figured out what i am going to do with the rest of my life.

Now, i'm sure you're asking yourself "good, golly! what might that be" or you're probably thinking "well, frankly, i don't really give a fuck, diane" (well fuck you back, because this is my blog and my name is not diane, assholes.)

Back to the idea that you're actually caring just a little bit as to what i'm talking about and i'm sure you're asking yourself "teacher?" or "carpenter" (just like my baby J and his papa- my idols) but NO.

the fact of the matter is. my new dream. is to coach.
coach what you ask?
well coach little girls in beauty pageants, of course!

why?

because first of all, nothing makes me happier than the once in a lifetime opportunity to scream, rather, swear loudly at 4 year old girls (gotta get them when their young y'know. gotta build some, er. balls).

secondly. miniature flamboyant costumes and "shot in the face with a paint gun" makeup are the number 1 and 2 on my list of things my life would be incomplete without.

third. who else is going to choreograph age inappropriate dance routines? the raunchiest of songs by salt n' pepa will not whorify themselves and god knows those prostitoddlers don't know what the fuck they're doing when it comes to anything.

Finally. I want to inspire. not perspire. INspire.

so there you have it. I'm going to do it. I'm moving to the southern states. i'm gunna get meself a big bottle of Jack Daniels and IS ON!

"yeah, you can eat...WHEN YOU DON'T FUCK UP THE DANCE ROUTINE!!!!! now MOVE. Those toes better be bleeding or on fire when i get back from the saloon..."

bad

this is why they don't let me near famous people

Dear Omar Rodriguez lopez.

i've spent the last 10 minutes on google image and i've come to the conclusion that:

i think i'm in love with you. and i know i'll look like a blimp standing next to you because you're like a stick and i have broad shoulders but i don't care.
you're so effing rad.
and i want to build a nest of love in your sick afro. or i would think you wouldn't like that most probably because you're intimidating like that. so maybe i'll just touch it while you're asleep.

also.
if you agree to marry me. i will never talk ever again, a selective mute will i be. i promise. because for sure everything that comes out of my mouth
will confuse and or scare you.
i promise not to touch your guitars because i will probably break them. for that matter, i wont touch anything musical belonging to you for i will probably turn it into something autotune or donny osmond.
and i won't look cedric in the eye because i've convinced myself that he will one day get so angry at me that he will run after me screaming all high pitch. then i'll start crying and you'll be all "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" but in spanish because in my head. that's the only language you speak.

Our children will look like a mixture of porcelain doll and speedy gonzalez. with glasses and afros (regardless of sex)and sick full on plaid polyester suits. or like maybe eggplant. or ou ou ou!! burgundy!


ps. i also like mars volta and at-the drive in so. i mean. its not like i just go on google image and then propose to just anyone.

plus you're rich so yeah.
i'm a history major and unless there's another world war prompting an insatiable need for history book writing..we'll be registered at the bay and standa.

if i could be anything in the world

without a shadow of a doubt. middle-aged gay man.
i think i have the potential to love middle-aged gay men possibly more than my own children. they're the fucking bees knees man. the cat's pyjamas. you've never lived life until you've had the privilege of having a magm talk to you about his saturday night sexcapade. it's better than any soap opera or reality tv show in the history of anything. and i only say that because i'm an old soul. and that soul is the soul of that of a middle-aged gay man.

this brings me to a segment i like to call "my own personal middle aged-gay man"

- silk floral pattern shirts buttoned half way.
- linen pants year round.
- hot young cabana boys EVERYWHERE.
- Tom Selleck is GORGEOUS.
- monacle, please.
- madonna max vol. NOW
- "jamaica. no problem" t-shirtttt with a stoned rasta lizard on it.
- loafers loafers loafers.
- golden girls marathon (girrrrrl. go on wit cho bad self)
- ricky martin music video
- barbara fucking streisand forever.
- BINGO NIGHT YES.
- uh. mustache OBV.
- strawberry daquiris in my belly.
- shrine to judy garland and predecessor liza monelli.
- "Marzapan". my bichon frise and "Mr. Jinglepants" my trusty yet crazy cat sidekick.

you may think i'm being a stereotypical jerk. but joke's on y'all. because all of the above would exist regardless of whether or not i was middle-age, gay, or a man. except the hot young cabana boys. cause boys whether they be hot or of the cabana genre. do not like me.

...but they would if i were a middle age gay man.
cause that would make me fucking awesome!