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I Want To Try New Meat
I had dinner with some friends the other night. And by “had dinner”, I mean they cooked for me! I almost fell in love. It was that good. But describing the food will only make my mouth water and it takes me away from my story.
One of the friends, Amy (<~ link to her Twitter account) opened my eyes to the world. She’s from Australia. You can’t really tell that from her Twitter account that she’s not American except for the occasional misspelled word (behaviour, colour, honour, analyse).
Amy shared with us all sorts of animals that were native to Australia. Names I had never heard of. Animals that looked so strange to me.
The only question I kept asking was “Can you eat that?” I’m all about food. And when I’m exposed to the world, I want to eat it’s meat.
Precious Moments Involving a Small Rack
As I’m driving home on Sunday getting ready to wind down my weekend, this is what I see along a busy road.
This was right after these two creatures bolted in front of my car as I’m speeding along at 50 miles per hour. The photo isn’t great, but hey…I was driving.
They were super cute. And one of them had an adorable (= small) rack.
Awww. This stuff tugs at my heart strings.
Fake boobs: check, Bleached hair: check, Leopard print: check – Rawwwr
I got a little worried recently. I’m 37. And I’m single.
At dinner I noticed two hot older women. I tried to sneak a photo of them but it was a leopard print blur. You know how hard it is to inconspicuously walk with phone in front of your face trying to aim at moving targets? They were both older with blonde hair. Both had arthritis (okay huge fake boobs), artificial nails, super tanned, tight clothes and sitting at a table with three younger men. The women were hot, the men were hotter.
Which leads me to the cougar scare. Urban Dictionary describes a cougar as an attractive woman in her 30’s or 40’s who is on the hunt for a younger man.
Even Barbie is known to have cougaresque tendencies:
Rather than worry and get my fake boobs removed, or go back to my natural dirty blonde hair I’ve decided to take another route. I won’t wear tight animal print shirts, prey on younger men, or get artificial nails.
If I ever forget, you have my permission to withhold wine until I come to my senses again. Trust me, this says a lot.