Here are more things

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Here is my face.

I have hands and feet and other parts too, but I prefer to keep some things private.

If it's helpful in imagining the rest of me, one time a guy I used to bone described me as "sort of like a hot Gumby."

I was offended by that description at the time but then a while back I had vagina surgery and I walked a lot like Gumby for a couple of weeks so maybe he was just seeing into the future? He was describing my body, though, not the way I walk, so I don't know. Possible I was wearing a lot of boot-cut jeans at the time.

For the record, the bottom part of my legs are shaped normally, regardless of the type of jeans I might be wearing. And I'm not green.

Not at all like Gumby, really, I don't know what that guy was talking about.

I'm sure you were hoping for more from this bio than how my body was once inaccurately described, but if I tell you everything in this one little box, I'm not sure why you'd read all the other great stuff on my blog.

Plus, there's a lot you can tell from this picture of my face.
  • I'm a white person, for one.
  • I'm also a female.
  • If you look closely, you can see some grey hair, which means I'm no spring chicken.
  • I'm smiling with my mouth closed - could be I have eff'd up teeth or possibly my neck muscles get all weird when the corners of my mouth go up too high. Maybe both.
  • I might live in a house with a blue door. (I don't.)
  • Finally, it appears that on the day this photo was taken, something interesting was happening to my right.

There. Now you know some stuff about me.

Bye.

We’ll call it “What Happens in Vagus (Nerve)”

I think my body should have its own reality show.

All my parts would stuff themselves into really skimpy outfits and have fake laughs and wear way too much makeup. And then one day my vagina would be like “I’m gonna ruin your birthday, you bitch!” and then the next day my shoulder would be like “I’m gonna tear up aaall my muscles so you can’t do yohhhga anymore!”

And then a little while later, my vagus nerve would be like “Oh so you want to get all chatty with your AirBNB host right now? Well, I’m gonna make you pass out, right on the floor and then vomit all over yourself while I do a strip tease for your boooyfriend!

And so on, and so on, you get the picture. It would be one of those shows people say they don’t watch but secretly love.

I wouldn’t love it, of course, because it’s my reality, and I know how these things actually go when they’re not all scripted and sexed up.

For example, it’s not entertaining to say “I was talking to our AirBNB host and then I felt faint so I excused myself and laid down and then I barfed in a bag next to the bed.” Like probably I should’ve been wasted when that happened, or naked in a hot tub with the Hot Canadian’s Hot Brother.

I wasn’t even wearing a skimpy outfit. Just the same ol’ dumpy pajama pants I’ve worn every night for the past two years (and all day every day plus every night since we’re home all the time now and wearing jeans inside is super dumb).

The Hot Canadian came home from his evening walk and found me all sadsack-grossout-vomitbreath in the spare bedroom, screaming “GET AWAY!!! I’VE GOT THE THING!!!” But then we looked it up and vomit is not a symptom of Coronavirus. Neither is passing out. I’ve got no fever, and no coughing. Feelin’ good. I’m fine.

And really, this is pretty normal for me. I have that princess syndrome where my brain just shuts off when stuff gets too hard, and I fall gracefully to the floor, dainty hand on dainty forehead.

(It’s also always followed by me nearly shitting myself, but sometimes I leave that part out depending on who I’m talking to.)

Nine times out of ten, it aligns with some big thing that’s going haywire in my life – a failed marriage, a big scary move to a new place, oh, I dunno, a global pandemic?

It’s real annoying, I’m not gonna lie.

At least it usually happens in really fun places like The Times Square Subway Platform! or On Stage While Giving a Presentation at a Conference! or In My Hookup’s Shower! The spare bedroom in our apartment is a bit of a letdown if I’m honest.

Anyways, funny how our bodies do weird stuff to get our attention.

Probably smart to listen to it, though.

So, in honor of that little slut I call my vagus nerve, I’m settling the fuck down. Staying at home like I’m supposed to, not reading a thousand terrifying articles a day. Breathing and running and doing all that “how to stay sane when you’re scared” stuff they tell you to do.

And probably throwing a glass of wine in the Hot Canadian’s face tonight. For the ratings.

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