Bald Gay French Porn Star

This is Fran├žois Sagat. He’s a bald French porn star. Unfortunately for me, he’s gay. (That sucks…teehee. Get it?)

Who knew a French dude could make the American flag look so good?

A Gypsy Heart Is a Wild Heart

In case you haven’t noticed, in my heart, I am a gypsy.

As such, I would really appreciate receiving a caravan for my birthday. Stocked full of wine and cool gypsy stuff, like jangly coins and scarves.

Seriously, though, even though I am not Romani by blood, I am pretty sure I’m a gypsy anyway. I can just feel it. Or maybe it’s all the wine I’ve been drinking.

The Skinniest Fatty

Dun dun…dun dun…DUN DUN! You know what that scary sound is? (Don’t read it like, “Dun dun. Dun. Dun.” Read it like, “DUNDUNDUNDUN” all Jaws style.) Something is coming. And that something is…swimsuit season.

I’m stupid. But anyway, that retarded intro to this post aside, I need to Get My Fat Ass Into Shape. Or should I say, my skinny-fat ass into shape. If you haven’t heard that cute little term, it describes people like me. People who look decent (okay, fine, awesome) but are actually not really in shape at all and are just possessed of one kickin’ metabolism. And if you’re thin and you’re reading this right now, it probably describes you, because most people just don’t work out. But do you know what happens if you count on that metabolism holding out for the rest of your life? YOU GET SUPER FAT AND KIDS POINT AT YOU IN THE GROCERY STORE BECAUSE THEY ARE AFRAID YOU’LL EAT THEM.

Okay, maybe not. But you will get fat. And even if your poor body somehow manages to keep you skinny while you wolf down Hungry-Man dinners and Keystone, it’s still not as sexy as being skinny and toned.

I mean, don’t let me cramp your style. There is nothing wrong with being whatever size you want to be. But just speaking on a personal level, I want to be thin and in-shape, not some gross tube of Cheetos and fattiness or whatever. I used to run track, so that’s obviously back on the menu to get myself looking extra-spicy (what? Fuck you. How many synonyms for “sexy” do you know? I’m not gonna go grab a thesaurus for this), as well as dancing, because it’s fun and it’s supposed to make you less chubbsy ubbsy. And some weight-lifting, because every fitness thing I read is all “blah blah blah calories blah blah don’t forget WEIGHTS weights weights weights weights!” And yoga, since that’s part of the daily hullabaloo anyway.

I mean, I’m sure I have a few good years left before the skinny-fat thing stops working for me, so I could just sit around eating Ben & Jerry’s instead. But that’s not my jam. (HAHA food puns.)

Story Time

So, dearest Internet, I apologize for my lack of posting, but I’ve been on vacation. And I’ve been distracted by lovely things like calzones, and alcohol, and running around in the freezing cold.

Which means my brain has not exactly been focused enough (or sober enough) to come up with any great stories for you lovelies. But I’m working on it, promise (just as soon as I finish this drink).

Things That Would Make People Hate Me

Nobody’s perfect. I mean, I come pretty damn close, but I still have some qualities that make certain people hate me.

Okay, no one hates me, ’cause I’m great, but have you ever told someone how much you loved Flight of the Conchords and they replied in disgust, “Worst. Show. Ever.”? Or said, “Gosh, I’d love to go to Bonnaroo this year,” only to have them say, “I can’t stand that kind of music”? And then even though you felt bad about it, you kind of liked them a little less? Yeah. So this is my list of things that, once I admit them to certain people, I can see them kind of going, “Mmm, yeah, this girl is not quite as cool as I thought she was.”

  1. I don’t like Scooby-Doo. Never have, never will. It is the most boring cartoon ever created. And I hate their stupid voices. You know who likes Scooby-Doo? Everyone ever. Hate on, haters.
  2. I hate cherry-flavored things. This includes lollipops. You know how many times people have given me a cherry Blow-Pop and I have to be that dick who’s like, “Nahhhh, gross”? A MILLION.
  3. I don’t think Megan Fox is that hot. If I had to go rouge, I would not pick her. Objectively, I can see that she is a very pretty girl, but I don’t think she is THE PRETTIEST. Again, you know who thinks she is THE PRETTIEST? Everyone ever.
  4. The Saw movies? Not for me.
  5. I am weird about going bowling. Like, I abso-fucking-lutely hate it if it’s not with the right group of people. You’d have to drag me by my hair to the bowling alley if you’re not going with a really solid crew.

Oh, man. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Maybe the beloved People of the Internet are all currently eating cherry Blow-Pops while watching Saw IV and planning bowling dates, and now they’re gonna be mad.

But what can I say:

Oh, St. Valentine, You Minx

It’s Valentine’s Day.

You know what that means, right? Tequila.

No, but seriously, who likes this day? Who? If you’re single, it obviously sucks. All these corny-ass couples are giving each other balloon bouquets and drooling on each other’s faces wherever you look. And if you’re one of those couples, you have to stress over giving an awesome gift and not accidentially blurting out, “This is a dumb holiday, and I slept with your brother.” (Who hasn’t been there?)

I’m no cynic. I love love. But shouldn’t you just be sweet to the person you’re with all the time, not just ’cause of a number on the calendar?

For some people, today really does mean something, though. And that’s sweet. For some of those sappy drooly couples, they’re not just doing it ’cause they feel guilty or because they want to get it in. It’s an excuse to be all romantic and shit, and they eat it up with a spoon and some heart-shaped sprinkles on top.

But for me? Forget the chocolate, forget the flowers, and definitely forget the creepy teddy bears that sing love songs. Just remember me–the other 364 days of the year.

Beauty, Freedom, Truth, Love, & Weird Clothes

Secretly, I kind of consider myself a bohemian. Do I know what that even means? No. But according to Urban Dictionary (which is obviously reliable), it’s someone who is “above all [an] optimist” (and who “like[s] wearing a mixture of weird clothes”). Yeah, that sums me up.

On the real, though, I would never call myself a bohemian. Mostly because it sounds like a really pretentious excuse to smoke weed, and I don’t need any excuses, thankyouverymuch. But I saw Moulin Rouge, and listened to that whole spiel about the bohemian ideals of “beauty, freedom, truth, and love.” And I agree. Also, I enjoy absinthe, even though it tastes way more like licorice than my taste buds expected.

Seriously, though, what’s not to love about wearing feathers in your hair and lying in the sunshine and thinking happy things? What’s something better you could do with your time on earth? I have no idea what the meaning of life is. Probably, it’s like a giant dogfight and people in the sky are betting on us or something. So why spend your useless time being miserable? Instead, you should spend it in fringe-y scarves and moccasins, drinking strange green liquor with your friends and being stoked. It’s the bohemian way–take it from me.

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