Merry Christmas to all, and to all, some good mood-altering substances.

I think I’m packed for Christmas, yeah?  

No, wait… You’re right. I need beer.

Also, I totally hear you — Xanax would’ve been great, but alas, there’s some shit about ethics where they won’t give it to me because I don’t actually have anxiety? I KNOW, right, what the shit? This IS America, right? Family gatherings + Jesus’ birthday = special dispensation. That’s in the Bible: “And lo, distributed among them, there were delicious medications, and yea, they were happy. OK, well…not really HAPPY, but they didn’t hit anyone, and so there was peace on earth, and sedated goodwill toward men.”

P.S. I will spend today baking MANY cookies; those are almost Xanax if you eat enough of them.

P.P.S. That whiskey is not for me. That shit is like having one of those hippie honey cough drops in your drink. Ugh.

That time I damned myself to hell before noon.

I asked my mother what I could bring to Christmas dinner, maybe a dessert or wine, and she said, “No worries, we’re all set for food, and we have enough to drink — there’s water and soda and juice.”

Oh. Oh, honey. Is it GIN and juice? Is there grape drank? (That’s what those Sunny D commercials meant by “purple stuff,” let’s be honest.)

See, I can’t get through Christmas with that big fake smile on my face without mixing pills and alcohol, Karen Walker style. Besides, if you read The Bible, you’ll learn Jesus turned water into wine because He WANTED us to be half in the bag on His birthday.

Jesus was a partier. Fact. He didn’t go all in with hats and streamers and all that, because that’s just excess, but He could knock back goblets of His own blood like nobody’s business.

In which I finally get the hang of Thursday…

I feel like I probably had a better Thursday night than a lot of people.

Many thanks to Yvette St. James for talking our group through what goes where when couples play with toys. I’m hoping it comes (heh) in handy in the very near future.

(The ice cream is just ice cream, because there is an ice cream shop a few doors down from the sex shop. Because Jesus loves me. And ice cream. And vibrators… I haven’t read The Bible but that’s all in there, no?)
 

   

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Bisquick

Oh, go fuck yourself, Pinterest. I just double-checked The Bible, and yeah — ain’t nothin’ in there about sinful pancakes.  

(OK, we all know my heathen ass doesn’t have a Bible around for quIck reference. But I’m pretty sure about this one. Gluttony, sure, but it’s not pancake-specific. How dare you sully the good name of pancakes? This is a pancake hate crime. That is NOT what Jesus would do.)

Also, now I want pancakes. FOR THE LORD.