Monday, August 20, 2007

ThePeach's Summer

Oh my god. It has been over a month since I updated. 2 months since I have done an actual update and not a lazy-shit update. I am SO sorry. Please don’t leave me. I need you. I need you like I need cheese. I need you like I need TimWhore’s muffins. I need you like I need gin in the morning, for fuck’s sake!

I promise I’ll be a better lover to you. I’ll be attentive to YOUR needs and demands. I’ll pleasure you whenever you want. I won’t let my work come first ever again. What work, you ask? Fuck you!

I mean…I love you…

So, this post is shaping up to be quite random. There’s not really going to be an over-arching theme or topic, unless surliness is a theme.

1. ThePeach is Lazy
So, you’re probably wondering what the shiz I’ve been doing for the past 2 months that has kept me so busy. The honest truth is I have no idea. Seriously. I’m drawing a complete blank on anything I’ve done since July. It’s like I’ve been cryogenically frozen for 2 months and I’m just being thawed now. I can’t even really blame the drink, because I haven’t been drinking too much lately. Except for TheCrazy’s bachelorette. And I guess her wedding. And also possibly BeerFest. Ok, so maybe the drink played a minor role.

Mainly though, I have spent the past 2 months lying on my futon watching Friends and Hell’s Kitchen. Sometimes I went to the gym. Sometimes I went to work. Usually I went to the fridge and made myself a sammich.

I guess I have been kind of busy planning my upcoming trip to Europe with TigerCat. We leave in FIVE FUCKING DAYS, by the way. Holy shit. Have I mentioned that TigerCat and I have never “backpacked” before? Our idea of vacation tends to be an all inclusive resort where we don’t have to think or move for 7 days and can just steep in local rum and occasionally get electrocuted from trying to use the lamp in our hotel room. Fucking Cubans. I’m a little nervous about the whole backpacking thing, frankly. For instance:

- do I have to become a hippy now? Do I have to wear headbands and dreadlock my smelly hair? Do I have to wear flowy skirts and Birkenstocks? This could be a problem, since I don’t like the taste of granola or vagina.
- Where do I plug in my hair straightener?
- Do I have to pay to use a shitter? What if I don’t know if I have to poop or just fart? Do I gamble to save the 2 Euros? If I shit my pants, will they still let me into the Vatican?
- What if I get lost in Croatia? The only Croatian words I know are “Hello” and “Bees!”
- Do I have to use a bidet in Paris? Can I control the water pressure? Will my ass try to drink the water? Will this feel bad, or natural?

This leads me to my next topic of discussion…

2. Can the Ass Eat?
Some of you may recall my fevered debate on this topic. I really want to know whether or not the ass can eat. This whole train of thought was birthed from a conversation I had with WeeOne about drugs that are inserted into the ass. The ass can take medicine. It will absorb the medicine through the ass lining. Same with alcohol and drugs. I once saw a video of a guy who funneled beer into his own asshole, and then funneled it back out into a glass and made another guy drink it, and then that guy threw up. That was a good Christmas party.

So anyway…can the ass eat? If I were to grind up some steak and put it in an ass, would it be gone by morning? I would really like to run some experiments to find out. I just need ethics approval and a hungry asshole.

3. ThePeach is Stealth
Cleavage is living in England with her internet lovah now, but before she left she invited a bunch of us over for a going away party at her parents’ house. I was mighty hungover from TheCrazy’s wedding the night before, so I didn’t drink until the sun went down. I felt a little awkward being one of the only sober people and having to mingle with Cleavage’s family in my hungover state, but I tried to defer attention from myself by swearing like a sailor on leave and sticking a plunger to my forehead (there are pictures somewhere).

Later in the night, when all of the adults were tucked into bed, us kiddies gathered in the backyard and smoked an assload of pot. We were fucking HIGH. I discussed my observances on various societal trends and rolled around in the grass like the animal I really am. WeeOne and I gazed at the stars. TheHubby and I caressed each other lovingly. TheHippie and I morphed into one person. I was almost ready to dance the dance of the free when Cleavage’s Dad appeared and angrily asked us what we were doing. Cleavage had previously warned us that her Dad was very anti-drug, so everyone tried to act sober and hide the pot evidence. Especially me.

Cleavage’s Dad: *gruff* What are you kids doing?
Cleavage: Oh, sorry Dad. Did we wake you up? *sits on bag of pot*
WeeOne: We were just looking…at the stars.
ThePeach: *under breath* Oh…jesus…
TheHippie: *giggle*
Cleavage’s Dad: Why are you sitting in the backyard at 1am? There’s a storm on the way.
Cleavage: We didn’t want to keep you up so we stayed outside.
WeeOne: To look at…the stars.
ThePeach: *under breath* can’t…keep it…in…
Cleavage’s Dad: You shouldn’t be outside in a storm.
ThePeach: *under breath*…the pot…wants me…to talk…
Cleavage: We know. When it gets close we’ll come inside.
ThePeach: I don’t want to be an amputee, Sir.
TheHippie: *punches ThePeach in the uterus*
WeeOne: Oh, shit.
Cleavage’s Dad: What?
ThePeach: I don’t want to be an amputee. I won’t stay out in the storm.
Cleavage: *slaps ThePeach*
Cleavage’s Dad: I’m really not following you.
ThePeach: If a storm comes, one of us could get struck by lightening, and it will probably be me because I’m so connected to nature right now. I can really feel the nature…*pets lawn*…oh god, the grass is so soft! So ya, I would get struck by lightening, and the resulting burns to my body would probably be so severe that I would lose a limb. Probably even more than one. And if that happens, I want one of you to kill me, ok? I don’t want to live as a cripple *sobs*. I know it will be hard, but I want one of you to kill me. And TheHippie, I think it should probably be you. Because you would do it out of love *takes TheHippie’s hand* Fuck, you all know how much I fucking hate amputees! *cries*.
TheHippie: *looks lovingly at ThePeach* I would totally do it out of love.
Cleavage: Oh my god.
ThePeach: *laughs hysterically* I’m sorry! What did you want me to do!? I’m so fucking HIGH, I had to say what was in my heart!
Cleavage’s Dad: I’m still here, you know.
ThePeach: You should really try touching the grass.

I don’t think I’ll be invited back.

4. Croatia Should be Good Times
One of the places TigerCat and I are visiting is Croatia. It is supposed to be awesome. In fact, just today I read on that Nicky Hilton is currently vacationing there. If Croatia is good enough for a Hilton, it’s good enough for me. Seriously though, it looks beautiful there. All of our guidebooks tell us that Croatia is the “jewel of the Adriatic” and that it’s a beach-lover’s paradise. Plus their traditional breakfast is pastry stuffed with layers of meat and cheese, so you know I’ll be eating well. Apparently Croatia is starting to attract tons of tourists, so now is a good time to go because they still haven’t become part of the EU and consequently are still cheap as shit. All in all, it is a perfect vacation spot.
Oh ya, except for one minor detail.

I was flipping through our guidebook one last time when I came across a warning I had missed before:

“WARNING! As tempting as it is to wander the beautiful hills that circle Dubrovnik, one should never leave the main roads due to undiscovered land mines which still can be found in the area.”

Oh, that’s just fucking beautiful. I can see it now. TigerCat and I will be wandering down to the beach, admiring the beauty of the coast and eating our cheese and meat pastries, and I’ll get a leg blown off as I point out an exotic bird.

TheHippie: you know what you need to do if this happens. Do it out of love, my friend. Do it out of love.

5. Milo is still a Bastard
The cat has been pretty good lately. He has been pretty whiney ever since I put him on a diet, but I find that a few swift kitten-punts usually shut him up. I have to admit that I’m going to miss the fucktard while I’m in Europe, though. I don’t know if I can sleep without a furry, grunting, ass-stinking monster lying on my face. TigerCat, maybe you should stop shaving just in case I need you to comfort me.

Well, last Friday Milo decided that he was going to be cute and he curled up to sleep for the night on my chest. I was reading a scary book and I appreciated the stink-ball’s company. He purred and twitched and patted my face with his little paws, and we both slept quite soundly. “I’m going to miss you, stinktard!”, I thought to myself as I dozed off comfortably.

And then I woke up with cat vomit on my knockers.

Actually, I woke up to the sound of Milo retching. It sounded like he was trying to heave up a brick. I forgot that he was lying on my body and groaned that I would have to get up to clean cat vomit out of the carpet. Then I opened my eyes and made eye contact with him just as he released a neat pile of yellow chunks onto my tits.

I actually said “Are you fucking KIDDING me??!” out loud as Milo pitifully limped to the edge of the bed to go back to sleep. I then walked to the washroom and mopped the vomit off my chest with toilet paper. The pile didn’t drip or shift or anything when I stood up. Milo pukes pure glue, apparently. After I had soaped myself down, I returned to bed and the next morning I totally forgot that the whole episode had even occurred. It wasn’t until I was sitting in a movie theatre with FauxHawk 20 hours later that it all came back to me like rape memories in a psychologist’s office (oh man…too far? Fuck you! It’s my blog!).

Fucking, fucking cat.

6. Pla-cen-ta!
So, this morning I decided that I needed a second breakfast and ambled on over to TimWhore’s for my daily fix. As I walked in, I noticed that there was some kind of conference taking place in the office building attached to the TimWhore’s. People were milling about with clipboards and everything was quite professional looking. I walked past the registration desk on my quest to make myself fatter and noticed the following sign:

“National Association of the Placenta Conference: Placentas are Life!”

Oh, wow. I was not expecting this. National association of the PLACENTA!!!??? The placenta has its own association!!?? I can just imagine the conference schedule:

9-10am: Registration
10-11am: I bet no one told you that you have to birth one of these fuckers after your baby pops out. Have fun with that.
11-12pm. Placentas vs A Can of Dog Food: Can you tell the difference?
12-1pm: Lunch. Placenta Soup (tastes like babies!).
1-2pm: Why is it purple, and many more questions answered.
2-3pm: Why yes, you can throw it like a slippery football.
3-4pm: Placenta fight!!!

This whole debacle reminded me of two things:

a) TheHippie and I placed “placenta” at the top of our favourite words list a long time ago. Seriously. Try saying it out loud. It’s so fun! Pla-CEN-ta! PLA-cen-ta! Pla-cen-TA! Also on the list are the words “uterus”, “electrolyte”, and “vas deferens”. We start saying these words whenever we’re bored or high or both. Or neither.

b) Once, FauxHawk took me with him to work on a Saturday afternoon because he needed to get something out of his locker. He took the opportunity to show me around the delivery floor, and luckily no women were currently in labour or I would have shat my pants. He showed me the operating room, and the delivery rooms, and his staff room, and then he took me to a random fridge in the middle of a hallway.

FauxHawk: Want to see something awesome?
ThePeach: Um ok.
FauxHawk: *snickers*
ThePeach: Is this going to make me shit my pants?
FauxHawk: No, no…it’s just really cool.
FauxHawk: *opens fridge* You see that huge bucket?
ThePeach: Ya.
FauxHawk: Look inside it!!!
ThePeach: *peers into bucket* AHHHHHHHHHH!!!! AHHHHHHHHH!!!! WHY???????!!!!!
FauxHawk: They’re placentas!!!!!
FauxHawk: *Laughs Hysterically*
FauxHawk: Wimp.
ThePeach: *shits pants*

And that, boys and girls, is what you have missed in the 2 months since I have last posted. I still plan to write something about TheCrazy’s wedding/stagette, but all in good time. I thought placentas were more important.

Seriously. They’re purple.



asian cymbals said...

I HAVE A PLACENTA!!! I HAVE AN ASIAN PLACENTA! Maybe mine is flavoured with soy sauce and contains tofu?

I wonder if Eric will want to eat it a la Tom Cruise when it comes out?

Loved the post, you beautiful Europe-trekking whore. I'm so jealous, I want to go to Croatia!

Tania said...

um, you never explained why there was a bucket full of placentas...

The Peach said...

I think they just store them there, although I'm not sure why they keep them in the fridge? To keep them fresh?

The nurse said...

I used to work there, I don't remember a bucket of placentas. I think I would also yell at a bucket of placentas. probably the grossest things ever! Also Asian cymbals, we've never met but I feel like I know you cause i've read your blog, congrats on the placenta!

weeone said...

i heart blog updates.

Placentas are weird and very purple. One of the largest purple things i have ever seen. As far as i know they keep them so they can do tests and research on them.

Yay europe!

Cleavage said...

But what if I didn't WANT them to keep my placenta? How am I supposed to conduct earth-mother ceremonies where I plant the placenta alongside a baby tree, to grow with my child, if I don't get the placenta BACK? It came out of me, don't I get to keep it? Also, I am certain that I would produce exceptional placentas, and I would want it to have its very OWN bucket, not be thrown in with all of the average (and sub-normal) k-town placentas. This all strikes me as being invented by men. Men who don't have placentas.