Say It Like You Mean It

I spend a great deal of my time worrying about what to say.
What would be the best way to phrase words and sentences without sounding like a complete loser dork asshole?
It never really works out that well, considering all that time I spend thinking would be better used just talking.
By the time I have thought of something adequately satisfying, the moment has passed and so has the topic of conversation.
Thus the vicious cycle starts itself all over again.

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Dinner isn't ready

There is blood all over my exquisitely painted walls. And on the imported carpet from China. And soaked into the thousand thread-count sheets. This is going to take absolutely forever to clean up. I was never informed that death was so messy and if I had known I would have put down some plastic over the furniture or something. Now I have to pay someone to get all the stains out. Such a hassle. I was just playing a bit of a game with my husband, you see. It seems that we got a bit too rough and he has hurt himself. Such a clumsy man I am married to. He has managed to make a mess of everything in the room, and now it's going to take me even longer to clean up before dinner can get made. We always play little games like this with each other though. The last time we played tag, he accidentally pushed me too hard and I hit my head on the kitchen table. I ended up with 4 stitches, but I know it was just a mistake. Another time while we were playing hide and seek at the mall, he acciden...

Eyeliner Sideburns

In another life, known as the age of 14, I had a big crush on a boy. Before I get started recalling any type of detail about the nature of our relationship - no relationship whatsoever, actually - I feel compelled to describe our differences in outward appearance. Jason, last name Whothehellknows, was a rather attractive specimen of boy. Tall, slender, rather nice hair, amazing glasses. He was probably the boy that got me started on my love of guys that wear glasses, actually. I liked them so much that I even renamed him. Pretty Glasses Boy he was dubbed, PGB for short and I was completely infatuate. So was the rest of the female student body, to be honest. He delivered letters and memos to other classrooms for the office and you could hear the murmur down the hall from the girls after he left a room. I, on the other hand, was on the other side of aesthetically pleasing. I was short, too skinny, and my hair was wrong. Come to think of it, when isn't my hair wrong? I digress. He...

The Incorrect Formula For Jealousy

In the movies you kiss someone and its always magic. And it's all bombs. And fireworks. And stars that light up the sky. And babies are born. In real life you kiss someone and its rarely magic. And its bad breath. And saliva. And groping. And all you want to do is run away. All I want to do in this moment is run far, far away. This is horrible. This is more than horrible. This is everything NOT good in the world. I.e.: Dead animals, roast beef, Slipknot. This is.... bad breath, saliva, groping plus all of the aforementioned rolled all up into one package of boy lips and oral cavities. How does one person even manage to get all of that in there? It's been about 2 minutes of me looking at the bar scenery and him going 'Mmm, baby you taste so good bla bla bla,' and I'm really hoping that he's planning on coming up for air soon. Or maybe to rehydrate, seeing as all of his body's moisture has left him through his mouth and onto my face. Luckily for me, he does ne...

I mean it from the bottom of my [HEART].

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