A perilous, raging sea of boobs

Hi, everyone! Has anyone noticed? That I’ve not been updating? Oh good. I didn’t think anyone was suffering, so I’m glad to see you’re all humming along, business per usual. I’ll go back to my champagne and meat-on-a-stick over here and stop worrying…

…wait, what? Oh. I see. You need a distraction from work. Or however it is that you spend your day. Well, honestly, I can’t really give a good reason for not having written in a while. I’ve just been busy practicing my trust-falls with Kylie with some kung-fu added in just to mix things up. She has a mean high kick and will mess a bitch up.

Actually, I was in Los Angeles and Santa Barbara through the weekend for both business and pleasure. I’ll not divulge details of the trip to protect the guilty, but let’s just say there were many late nights, some Mamma Mia!, and Britainy asked for all of us not to judge her for accidentally falling in love with a gay man. It happens, honey.

What I can tell you is that each time I’m in LA, I have an almost overwhelming urge to dye my hair brown, if only because suddenly I blend into the sea of blonds and I like to be a little bit dif’frant, if I can help it. At least my hair is now quite short and I do not have enormous breasts, two things that seem to be mutually exclusive in the lower regions of California. I was in a coffee shop on Monday morning and a girl walked up to me. She was 80% boob, 10% hair and 10% perk. Which is annoying at almost any time of day, but especially when I’m still working my way out of the deep maw of sleep. “OOOOO!” she squealed! “WHERE DO YOU GET YOUR HAIR DYED???”

If you read this blog, you’ll know my thoughts on this question. If you’re new here, let’s just say that when people ask me this, I’m about as thrilled as when I note that I have an upcoming gynecological exam. Which is to say, not very.

I mumbled that it is, in fact, natural. And she went, “OOOOOOOOO – YOU’RE SO LUCKY! I HAVE TO GET MY ROOTS TOUCHED UP EVERY TWO WEEKS! OOOOOOOOOO!” You poor dear. What a hassle. She was sporting a very impressive rack, the contents of which she was pleased to be showing off, given her plunging neckline and multitude of necklaces that rested in her ample cleavage. It was somewhat distracting given her tendency to bounce up and down each time she spoke, her breasts coming perilously close to taking my eye out each time she jiggled. I let a glazed smile wash over my face as she pontificated further on the work it took to be her. I think my lack of response finally set in, as she ordered her coffee and went springing off elsewhere. I contemplated how long it would be before I could take a healing nap.

I was next in line and the guy behind the register took my order for tea. He then said “Do you want a shot of whiskey in that?” I looked up at him quizzically, to which he responded, “After dealing with that kind of enthusiasm this early in the morning, I thought you might want to add something a little stronger to your tea. You could have died if one of her tits had sprung loose.”

Indeed.