Dog Whores, Cannibalism and Out of Shape Sex Girl

My weekend talks/texts with EVG were enlightening as always.

Dog Whores

Me: You named your dog Margo?

EVG: I knew she was a whore the moment I saw her. So I named her Margo. It was the best whore name I could think of at that moment.
Me: How can you know if your dog is going to be a whore?
EVG: I just knew she was. And I was right. She came home and immediately got pregnant. Do you need any further explanation?
Me: No. Good call.

Cannibals

Me: (bored at home alone) Text me something funny.

EVG: This is all I got.

Me: ...

EVG: Okay, fine. What did the cannibal say to his wife when he was late for dinner?

Me: …
EVG: Why the cold shoulder?

Nothing is funnier to me than cannibalism. Hands down. She knows how to pull my heart strings.

In serious news, my life has taken a few peculiar turns. It’s never the big things that make me go “what the hell?” No, it is definitely the little things. Here are my ‘what the hell moments’ from this weekend.

1.      I woke up Sunday on the side of the bed closest to the door. Granted, when Wil Wheaton sleeps over, you the give that mother fucker whichever side of the bed he wants. And since the only other person who has ever slept in that bed with me has been my ex (and that has been nearly 8 months ago), I have not set up any “you are here” maps with an x clearly on the door side of the bed. Why does this matter? Because everyone knows that sleeping closest to the door is just dangerous. And irresponsible. And that I never EVER do it. Except Saturday night, evidently.

2.      I watched Robin Hood last night. What’s weird about that, you ask? There is an entire song of whistling. Anyone who knows me knows nothing gets under my skin like whistling. Except last night. Last night I thought, “this is a catchy little ditty.” Even crazier, the person watching it with me whistled and nothing happened. No skin crawling, no clenched toes and wanting to cut off my ears. Instead, I thought, “he’s pretty spot on.” What the hell is wrong with me?

3.      I ate healthy food this morning AND did an hour and a half of yoga at 6am, sans real sleep. Healthy food? Exercise before 5pm? This is uncalled for. Tonight I will down a tube of cookie dough and watch terrible TV shows from my couch with minimal movement just to counter this act of betrayal I have put myself through. Yoga at 6am… Jesus Christ.

4.      It seems my idea of romance is to threaten bodily harm and criminal mischief. Don’t ask. Let’s just say that I know better than to open my mouth. Nothing good or normal ever comes out of it. There is a reasonable me that lives inside of me and is always screaming, “shut your god damn pie hole!” But I never do. And reasonable me is never pleased.  

Speaking of bodily harm, I had a great talk this morning with a recovering sex addict. Here is how it went:

Out of Shape Sex Girl: I had sex last night and I am sore all over.

Me: I am so happy for you!! Leave-you-sore sex is amazing!

Out of Shape Sex Girl: No. It was alright. Nothing mind blowing. It’s just been a while and I am out of sex-shape.

Me: 'Nothing mind blowing' means it was terrible. What did he do wrong?

Out of Shape Sex Girl: He wanted to go for like two or three hours.

Me: Holy shit! God no! That’s a whole Hobbit movie’s worth. Did he warn you or take you through the two hour stretch?

Out of Shape Sex Girl: He warned me so we stopped.

Me: Guys don’t get that. We don’t want hours of sex. I consider myself a sexual person. I don’t even mind sex everyday with someone. But three hour marathons? No. That is god damn ridiculous.

Out of Shape Sex Girl: Don’t worry. I got off twice before it was over.

Me: Oh! Then it couldn’t have been that terrible.

Out of Shape Sex Girl: Meh.

Me: Yeah. I guess once they lay that three hour sex thing out there it kills the mood. Like punching in for work and then watching the clock the whole time.
Out of Shape Sex Girl: Exactly!