Where: Gift shop, Gateway Arch, St. Louis, MO

I spray-painted the eyes to protect the not-so-innocent, but I’ll give you a hint: his initials are SMF!

Observations on Living with Special Man Friend (“SMF”)

A continuing series (until I get dumped for a better piece o’ ass)

1.  I don’t move around much while I sleep. I’m like those models in commercials that sleep in a perfect pose with the bedding perfectly tucked under one arm, and with perfectly coiffed hair and perfectly done makeup. Yes, I’m exactly like those models when I sleep, except my hair is tangled in knots, mascara is smeared under my eyes, and I have stinky breath. My point is, when I slept alone, the bedding was remarkably undisturbed the following morning.  However, now that SMF lives with me, I wake up in the fetal position, shivering and bedding-less.  He doesn’t steal the covers; the sheet, blanket and duvet are usually in a big heap at the end of the bed or on the floor.  I admit, sometimes this is a result of our hot, frantic sex-makin’, but I cannot blame the Constant State of Bed Disarray on our lovin’ alone.  I’ve tried everything – tucking in the sheets tightly, handcuffing SMF to the bed, slipping coma-inducing drugs into his nightcap – but nothing works. This messy-bed phenomenon has perplexed me for quite some time, but last week I discovered something even more curious: SMF had completely removed the pillowcase from the pillow during his sleep! How’s that for a rambunctious sleeping partner? Fortunately for him, I can sleep through anything, even his apparent nighttime krumping.

Where: Subway; Milan, Italy

My Italian is a little rusty (and by “rusty” I mean non-existent), but I’m fairly certain this sign says,

“PLEASE DO NOT ATTEMPT TO HAVE SEX WITH SUBWAY DOORS.”

JORDANSMORGASBORDEN: The Funniest Niece on the Planet

(age 11)

Heidi: You’re the best!

Jordan: No, you’re the best.

Heidi: Okay, I’m the best, but you’re a close second.

Jordan: You’re the best, I’m second best, and Uncle Greg is third best.

Heidi: Really?  I’m surprised you still say that since he doesn’t come visit you much anymore.

Jordan: Well, Aunt [TheGoddess] is right up there.

*     *     *

At camp, there was an altercation between two girls, after which the “pretty one” began teasing the “fat one” about her weight.  On Thursday, the whole group went to the beach and the pretty one got stung by a jelly fish in her private region.  Upon hearing this story, Jordan giggled uncontrollably and said, “All’s well that ends well!”

*     *     *

[At the grandparents’ house]:

    Later: 

Jordan: Mom, don’t feel bad. All fat people look fat from the side.

Or, Why You Should Poop Before Your Special Man Friend Says Something Hysterical

I’ve written extensively about comedian Gary Gulman’s obsession with me.  I totally understand why this perpetually-sweaty manly-man would want a piece of my sweet ass, so I’ve politely tolerated Gary’s unsolicited sexual advances (that cannot be seen by the naked eye).  I didn’t realize, however, that his undying fixation on me would affect my relationship.   Sure, I noticed Special Man Friend’s (“SMF”) pouts when I said I wanted to watch Tourgasm on HBO.  And I detected his ever-so-slightly accusing tone when he asked me why I liked my Funny Bone Comedy Club souvenir glass so damn much. But it was during a moment of alcohol-induced honesty when SMF finally asked:

“So you haven’t had sex with Gary Gulman?”

“Gary Coleman — I won’t deny it, but Gary Gulman? No. Are you being serious?” I asked.

Indeed, he was.

I burst out laughing.  In fact, I laughed so hard . . . I farted.  In an effort to cover up this embarrassing faux pas, I said, “You made me laugh so hard I farted!” (Clever, yes?) He said the farting didn’t bother him, but he’s a fucking liar.  Obviously a man would prefer a non-farting girlfriend over a farting one, right?

Thanks, Gary.  Thanks a lot!

See previous Gary posts HERE, HERE and HERE.