Sharing a bed with Boyfriend is like sharing a bed with SATAN

Last night I slept over at Boyfriend's house. This is an artist's (my) rendition of him. He's not that weird looking in real life. I promise...

Anyway, I slept over. We slept in the guest bedroom. It has a queen size bed, so you'd think me, 5'4", 115 lbs and him, 6'1" and 145 lbs, would fit comfortably, right?

WRONG!!

It was extremely uncomfortable in every way. I had forgotten to bring my pillow, which is a major factor in my discomfort. I am a creature of extreme habit and the smallest thing can really irritate me. So, when you put me in a different bed, with a shitty pillow and the most fidgety mother fucker this side of the meth lab, you've got a recipe for disaster.

I got into bed, expecting Boyfriend to come in within the hour. When that didn't happen, I began to get very irritated with the fan. I turned it on because Boyfriend can't sleep without a fan on. Considerate, right? But, in those two hours before he came in, that fan was my mortal enemy. I wanted nothing more than to throw it out the window. The constant whirrrrrrrring of the fan grinded on every nerve I had.

When Boyfriend finally came in, he tried very hard to be quiet. Which was nice but he has the limb awareness of a labrador puppy. He climbed into bed and I finally thought I could fall asleep with the security of my warm, sweet, kind... cold... fidgety... twitchy... You get the picture. The poor thing couldn't sleep either. We were stuck in a hellish bed of shuffling, running into each other and a rising fury against our minds that they wouldn't let us fall into the blissful world of sleep.

Around 4 am, I finally fell into a deep enough sleep to dream. I had weirdo dreams. And I woke up constantly.

Morning rolled around and I got up, peed, ate, showered. While I was showering, Boyfriend hops in, says the water is too hot, and threatens that, if I don't turn it down, he'll fart on me.

Isn't love grand?

Cannibalism, yay or nay?

Disclaimer: I have never eaten a human being. Nor to I plan to, ever.

You know it's crossed your mind, "What would people taste like?" And if it hasn't, it has now. So, I'll give you a moment to ponder this...

You done? Okay.

For the record, I am not a cannibal. I do not plan to eat a person ever. Unless, I'm been put in a situation where I have to. Like, a life or death situation.You and a group of people survive a plane crash in northern Alaska and I bet you, my reader, that the first thing to cross your mind will be, "Who are we gonna eat first?" I know right now I will not be eaten first. Why? Because I'm thin and pumped up with lots of immune-suppressant drugs. I'd taste awful!

You'd eat the fat guy first right? WRONG! He'd taste awful. He'd be all fat. He'd be much better later on, when your own fat supplies have been depleted by your body eating itself. No, you'll wanna eat the normal guy. He's on the heavier side, but he has muscle too. And, he will most likely have good marbling. Which is ideal for a cut of meat. And, naturally, when I crash in a plane I will most definitely have a canister of Lawry's Seasoning Salt. Which makes everything delicious.

Moral of the Story: Cannibalism is wrong. Do NOT do it. Unless you have to. People will judge you. And maybe ostracize you. But I will still love you. Because I would do the same thing.

Why I Don't Trust Toasters

This is a long running joke. A joke of which I am the butt of. The story goes that, one day, I was looking through my memos on my phone so I could clear out all the mumbo jumbo. It was all normal stuff, "Gift ideas for bf: -boob noodles -bacon ice cream -pink sparkly dildo?", cute quotes I've found and a lot of important info like my pin number. But there was one memo I did not remember typing. It simply said, "Why i dont trust toasters."

There were a few things wrong with this:
1. I usually have very good grammar.
2. I didn't remember writing it.
3. I was worried that Past Me knew something about toasters Present Me did not.

I started to think about it, and I came to the realization that, I really didn't trust toasters. I've actually had a fairly turbulent relationship with toasters all my life! Past Me, you were probably sleep typing, but at least you didn't text our ex boyfriend. So, I thank you for bringing this to my attention. On the up and up, this is why I don't trust toasters:

As a lass, my family had an Oster Toaster (when I could finally read, I found this hilarious and said it constantly for a week). The hilarity ended on the day Oster burned my toast. I was stunned. Having set the dial to medium, I expected beautiful golden-brown toast.

I was wrong.

Oster betrayed me, and from that moment on, I was suspicious of all toasters. Continental breakfasts are a nerve racking experience for me, since I can't drink milk for cereal, I'm almost always forced to use the hotel's toaster. A few years back, we got rid of that deceitful son of a bitch Oster and bought a new, shiny, four-slot model. I was excited to renew my trust in the counter-top appliance. But, as you can imagine, I was terribly fooled. My waffles were underdone, my toast blackened and one side was always darker than the other.

To this day, I completely disregard all the fancy dials and buttons and instead constantly pop the toaster every 45 seconds to flip the toast/toaster pastry/waffle. Using this usually innocent appliance becomes a stressful experience. I constantly worry I'll burn my delicious breakfast and waste perfectly good food. I don't have a dog, so I usually try to push the no-longer-edible food onto my unsuspecting family. I tried to give it to my cat once. She just licked it for 10 minutes.

And that, everyone, is why I don't trust toasters.

Princess Squibby has a lot of shit to say

I've always wanted to start a blog. Mainly so I have a place to say all the shit I have to say. Which is quite a bit. And also so Boyfriend doesn't leave me because I'm constantly talking about my hypochondria, conspiracy theories and all the cute animal videos I watch.

But, my worry is that I'll only end up reaching a few people with my words of "wisdom". I just recently got over that fear. Also, I just finished my bag of potato chips and I'm bored.

So, here I am, internet.  My first stab at blogging. Are you nervous? Are my stabbing skills working? We will find out. And by find out I mean I'm going to check back here every day hoping I get views.

Love and tension,
Her majesty, Princess Squibby