WOMANHOOD BLOWS BALLS.

I've now been off the pill for over 6 months. And you know what that means?

I'll tell you what that means.

It means that my womanhood is attacking me.

Yeah.

Cravings, swelling, horniness, emotions, cravings.

I've been wanting sweet and salt all day long.

I ate two deli pickles today back to back. Two. That's a lot of sodium.

I also ate some peanut butter after that. And had 16 Handles tonight.

I had to put the 16 Handles in the freezer so I wouldn't finish it.

I got the large size "to save some for later".

Somehow my body keeps thinking "later" is "now".

Yet another reason why being a woman is annoying.

My boobs are so swollen, I feel like I'm not breathing properly.

Then I realize that they, in conjunction with my increased back fat from Europe,

are making my bra so tight that I indeed am not breathing properly.

Bottom line: Dudes have it easy.

Being a chick is hard.

HAIR - NOT THE MUSICAL.

I read someplace (your bloggy mcbloggerson)
that you're growing out your hair.

This is exciting.
Please take photos for me.

You know how I love it when your hair is all long and flowy.
I know you hate it, but I love it.
Perhaps I can braid it or make it into a pompadour when we're back.

I cut my hair at Soon the other day.
My stylist is our age and dating a strapping 19 year-old.
It made me rethink my approach to men.
Namely, that I should preserve my youth by dating boys again.
Not illegal ones, but -- well, you get the picture.

Hope all is well, and that you're stapling up a storm.

WHEN IN ROME.

Not sure about Daft Punk in Italy yet,
but I heard Shania Twain's
"Man, I Feel Like a Woman" twice at dinner tonight.

Spain loves David Guetta--
particularly the song "Memories".
Download it. It, too, is catchy.
Much like the Plague.

Also, my boobs are about to explode as I reach my lady time,
I caught Emmet's Asian Glow, and I can't stop eating those
damn McVitie or McVittles Digestive "Biscuits"
that are all the rage here.

It's bad.

Don't be surprised if I look like Kirstie Alley next time you see me.

Oh yeah -- I got you a little present.
Let's just say Madeline Sophie would be happy with my choice.

I HAVE.

Started listening to Justin Bieber. I'm not going to lie, I find the song "Eenie Meenie" with Sean Kingston irresistibly catchy.

Are they still listening to Daft Punk over there in Italy?

CELINERSCHNITZEL.

I can't believe that she's having twins. They're going to look like horsies.

And on top of that, I can't believe you sent
me that link via RTT-whatever-that-site-is, and not, like,
Perez or something.

You're so Euro.

Why does the word "horsies" look so weird? Is it "horseys"?

Whatever. You know what I mean.

BESTIES.

That's what you and MadSoph should be.
She hasn't friended me yet. Does that mean I'm going to hell?

Also, there is a crazy crackwhore screaming in the street outside my hostel here in Rome. Somehow, it makes me feel at home.

FRIENDSIES?

Madeleine Sophie wants to be friends with me on Facebook.

I feel weird about it.

Isn't she dead?

ALIENS.

I don't know if you can read very important newz way over wherever you are, but you need to know this:

CELINE DION IS HAVING TWINS.

Also, I have been thinking about you a lot because I saw not one, not two, not three, but FOUR little people in one day.

WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?

ALSO.

I have no idea what the first 2-3 posts we wrote were about.

Damn you, freebies from Freeman's. Damn you.

PASS THE GAS.

Yesterday, as I was roaming the Real Alcazar palace in Sevilla, I came upon a beautiful terrace with a gurgling fountain and plentiful flowers.

There was a man there with a nice camera, so I thought I'd ask him to take my picture.

Just as I passed behind him on the stairs,
(he was a level up on a platform, you see)
he farted.

In my face.

It smelled like onions and something else. Can't say what.

I still asked him to take my picture.

And I thought of you.

THOUGHTS FROM A BROAD.

Monroe can never feel for you what I feel for you.

And I am radder. You know this.

YOU'VE ALMOST BEEN REPLACED.

We have a mouse.

I've named him Monroe and sometimes we chat.

That's what you get for leaving the country.

You get replaced by a hecka rad mouse named Monroe.

F THE BOUNDZ.

Skillet: The bounds are endless.

Home Fry: We just need to f***ing blog.

RIGHT AFTER THE BEGINNING.

Skillet: (Thinking) I still have toilet paper in my nose, and no one's said anything about it in a while.

Homefry: (On the verge of picking her nose. But she'll just claim she's touching her lip.) This will be something we can have while you're gone.

IN THE BEGINNING.

Home Fry: PEANUT BUTTER. CADBURY CREAM EGGS. IN YO FACE.

Skillet: Yeah, because you were wielding a KNIFE. Ass.

Home Fry: He looks drunk on his wedding day. I'm just saying. I'M OUT.

Skillet: Hair in a pompadour, red rimmed eyes, double chins. EPIC FAIL.

Skillet: I might have toilet paper stuffed up my nose right now, but I know what I'm talking about.

Home Fry: We're starting a blog.