You guys, I’m totally in love/awe/infatuation with www.trashyblog.com written by my bloggy friend, Shay. It’s my go-to blog when I need a bladder busting laugh, she never lets me down.  So when I asked Shay to write a guest post on my blog and she said “Of course!”, I was beyond thrilled!

Trust me, you’re in for a treat today, a real “ho” down ( I promise, that’ll be funnier after you’ve read the post) so make sure you’re wearing your pantyliner…

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When Kim asked me to guest post on her blog, I was so excited.  I thought and thought and thought about what kind of post would make the perfect fit for her blog, and the answer I came up with was something skanky.

Now, although I call Kim my fellow skanksta on my blog (www.trashyblog.com –Thanks for the plug, Kim!), I’m not sure if she ever actually was, hmm…how shall I put it?  A social butterfly (read:  slooter) like I was back in the day.  If she was, shame on her, because I was pretty nast-ay.  And if she wasn’t, I know she still likes to read about those of us who were because she’s a frequent visitor to my blog—and I love her for it.

So, without further ado, here’s what I came up with for my One Classy Motha guest blog post:

Bible Study

At Bible Study the other night (Yes, I go to Bible Study.  I’m pretty sure that even though it won’t erase the skankiness of my past—ahem, yesterday—my dirty whore soul can use all the help it can get), all of the ladies were talking about being forgiven for our sins and how God doesn’t hold anything against us if we’re truly sorry.  Naturally, the heathen college years came up.

“I once cheated on a French test,” one of the ladies whispered, staring down at her tightly-clasped hands.

“I got a B once,” another piped up, only slightly louder than the first.  She couldn’t meet our eyes; instead, she glanced shiftily from one side of the room to the other, racked with guilt.  I wanted to tell her that maybe if she’d been smart enough to cheat like Sinner #1, she’d have gotten an A.  But I held my tongue.

“I yelled at my mom on the phone once,” came from the back of the room.  The miserable offender wiped a lone tear from her cheek.

My jaw dropped farther and farther to the holy floor as I envisioned myself burning in hell with every confession that came out of my fellow Bible Studiers’ mouths.  And then, after this wretched confession from another one of the girls, “I ate a packet of my roommate’s Ramen noodles once” was followed by huge sobs that rocked her whole body, I couldn’t take it any longer.

“What the hell is wrong with you people?” I gasped.  “I was a humongous skanky whore.  I got drunk and had sex with a lot of people!”

I looked toward the back of the room, where the phone girl was still furiously wiping away tears, bottom lip quivering with disgust at herself.  “You’re worried about yelling at your mom on the phone?  The one time my dad called, I told him he was a selfish rat bastard for interrupting my hung over slumber before noon on a Tuesday and took the opportunity to set some phone call ground rules.”  I took a breath before continuing my spontaneous confession.  “I once bought a homeless man a sandwich and a beer so he would agree to sit on my best friend’s lap in the middle of a bar and lick her neck up and down while I hid in the corner and watched and laughed.  I’d have taped it, too, if we’d have carried cell phones around back then.”

I paused, watching the memory play out behind my eyes.  “Of course,” I felt compelled to add, lifting my shoulders in a shrug, “I realized when I went home with him that night that he wasn’t actually homeless.  It was just a look he’d perfected since he preferred drinking beer every night at the bar to eating and doing his laundry…”

When I looked up again, all of them were staring at me, eyes wide, mouths agape.  They stayed like this for about one minute before simultaneously looking down to open their Bibles and begin feverishly thumbing through the pages to find Scripture verses that would make me feel better.

“No,” I said.  “No, really—I’m okay.”  They paused from the page flipping and looked up at me again.  “I just feel like we should be given a pass for the college years, you know?”

At this, everyone in the room laughed.  Not because they thought I was joking, but because they get me, my peeps.  They just get me.

And thank God for that, or I would have been kicked out a long time ago.  In fact, I’m pretty sure they only keep me in as a sort of after-school program type deal:  If I’m there Bibling it up with them, that’s one less night I’ll be out on the streets, skanking it up.

The hubs thanks them for their dedication.  And I do, too, except for every third Tuesday or so, when I get to missing the skank days.  But it’s okay, because I know I can relive them during confession time with my Bible Study peeps, and that’s just as good, right?  J

(You know, I think Kim can make this post into a giveaway.  Whoever is the first to correctly count all of the times the word “skank” or any variation of it was used wins the pair of flip-flops that were pissed on during her vacation last week…whatdya say, Kim?  But wait, readers, because another one is used below, and you’ll want to include that in your Skank Tally…)

Trashy Blog was created and is written by Shay, who withholds her last name not to be all Beyonce, but instead to hold on to a little bit of anonymity. Trashy Blog is updated on Fridays, when Shay has a chance to kick back with a beer and trash her skanky little heart out.  www.trashyblog.com

Dear Kim,

About a week ago, I met this wonderful man on a business trip. Unfortunately he doesn’t speak much English. But even though we can’t fully communicate, I sense a connection when I look into his eyes, like I can read his mind. Do you think this relationship is worth pursuing?

Thanks,
Lisa in the Language Barrier Reef

Dear Lisa,

Aww, that’s sooo romantic! But it sounds like you do speak the same language, the universal language of Love…and, like Latin, it’s going to die.

Lisa, let me tell you a little story…

Years ago, I was at a bar minding my own business (my business happened to be eavesdropping), when this handsome gentleman came up to me and said “Hola” or “ciao” or “火本身”- whatever, I just knew it wasn’t English. I started to say “I don’t speak blah blah” but then I noticed he was HOT! Like who-gives-a-rat’s-ass-what’s-coming-out-of-his-mouth HOT!

So I nodded and simply repeated his greeting back to him. Later, I found out that our conversation went like this:

Him: Excuse me. Your dress is tucked inside your pantyhose.

Me: *blushes* Excuse me. Your dress is tucked inside your pantyhose. *big smile, head tilt*

From that moment on we were inseparable. I showed him my little corner of the United States, including every Starbuck’s within a 10 mile radius and the world’s biggest ball of yarn. In return, he told me stories of his beautiful homeland (I’m guessing that’s what all the blah blah was about).

Through our whole courtship, he was such a gentleman, never once touching me inappropriately despite all my attempts. In fact, we never even kissed! But we did spend lots of time just talking with our eyes. I assumed he was an optometrist.

“WTF are you talking about?”

“I have something in my eye.”

“Are we ever getting to first base?”

We were only together a week when, to my surprise, he pulled out an engagement ring! Wow!

Thoughts went through my head like: When will we get married? Where will we live? What’s his name? How do I ask him these questions?

But I thought “love will find a way!” and I said “YES!”. The first person he told was his girlfriend, Alijandra. Luckily, she spoke English.

Lisa, he was marrying me for a green card! But I couldn’t get mad at him, he probably told me this while I stood there watching his pecs flex (he was often shirtless).

Once it was established by his girlfriend that “no, you won’t be consummating the marriage”, I broke the engagement off and sent him back to blah blah land.

So what I’m saying is this, without speaking the same language, you’ll never really know what that son of a bitch is thinking. You might end up living with him and his foreign girlfriend (who will sit around all all day smoking cigarettes and making you feel like a fat sack of shit compared to her hot Brazilian body). If you’re ok with that possibility then I say GO FOR IT!

该市话,

Kim

You guys, I think I’ve lost it. Either that or I’m too brilliant for this world…frankly, I’m leaning towards “lost it”.

You may remember that yesterday’s post alluded to our cat, Roxy, peeing under our pool table. Well, I walked by that room yesterday and I. just. snapped!

No, I didn’t kill the cat (she’s too quick). Instead, I locked her in the bathroom (don’t worry dear bleeding hearts, I gave her food, water, and a litter box) and rented a steam cleaner at the grocery store.

But here was my dilemma: how do I steam clean an area rug, on hardwood floors, under a pool table? Answer: half-assed.

As you know from my previous posts, I pride myself on thinking outside of the box…like waaay outside. So this is what I did:

1. I purchased 2 plastic tarps, aluminum foil, and painter’s tape.

2. I laid a tarp under each section of rug as I cleaned it…for about the first 10 minutes, then I said “Screw this! It’s taking too long!” and ditched the tarp. *Our hardwoods, may or may not be rotting as I type this.

3. I let the rug dry for 24 hours. (cat still in solitary confinement so she can’t re-piss)

4. I then covered the rug with a tarp and taped it to the floor with painter’s tape.

Beautiful, no? Wait, it gets better!

5. And because I remembered reading that cats freak out when walking on aluminum foil, I lined the whole damn area with it!!!!

Do you know how many leftover pizzas this could have covered? Oh, the waste.

6. Then I placed the litter box near the area because I expect the cat’s brain to go something like:

“gotta nap, gotta nap, gotta nap. Hold up- gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta-WTF?! God damn it! What’s that crazy bitch done now?”

She WILL then test the foil and she WILL then almost piss herself when it crinkles (hahaha! Damn, I wish I could get that moment on video). After that, I guarantee she’ll flee to the comfort of her litter box…or my pillow. We’ll see.

I’ll admit, this is as far as I’ve gotten in my plan, I have no end game. The cat’s only 3, so my game room might look like this for the next 15 years. It’s a good thing we’re lame and never entertain.

PS- If you think this is extreme, then you definitely won’t approve of my backup plan to catheterize her.

PPSS- I’ll write the remainder of our Florida trip over the weekend. I know you’re all just DYING to know how it ends (spoiler: we come home).