Daddy’s Lambo

Let me drive your Daddy’s Lambo…

Alright – It’s not quite a Lambo, but it is a Maserati. What the F*ck is a Maserati? Lezzbe honest, I mean I didn’t even know what it was. According to Mr. Sport Car Extraordinaire, (My Sexy-Male-Best Boyfriend owner of so-called Mazz-er-ah-t) it’s a little sister of a Ferrari. Why– Because my boyfriend has to be original, and he needed to buy something that further fed his already I’m-a-Total-Sexy-Savage Ego and I think it’s the only one in Montana, Hence Originality.  We cannot go two feet in this town without people asking about it, or screaming nice car from there o-so-classy osmoible. Even as I was minding my own business, drawing doodles of Unicorns and rainbows, I looked over and two kids were sharing pictures of HIS car with each other commenting out our late night adventure to PLONK! Wine. Ridiculous.

Now, I can’t sit here in bitch that I get to ride around in the front seat of a Fancy-Smancy sports car on my time off… In matter-of-fact I love it, who wouldn’t? Which brings me to my next point; I cannot stand the woman that Eye-F*ck my boyfriend when he steps out of this car. Isn’t it already enough that he is absolutely gorgeous, but hey, let’s just throw in a Maserati to soup up that sex appeal? And here I am… Poor Innocent girlfriend, dealing with stripper woman rubbing their Barbie Doll Plastic Boobies all over his windshield… Well, that hasn’t happened yet, but in time I’m sure I will see it. I’m not a defensive girlfriend by any means, and I trust my boyfriend to the full amount, but a girl has got to draw the line somewhere right? I can’t have all these plastic Gold digging barbies willing to drop their panties at the chance they may get to fuck sit in the front seat of that car. Bitches He’s mine. – ( Man, I could write a Kanye West song about this…)

Dealing with this on a daily basis has become a routine for me #firstworldproblems. Which bring me to my third point: Slutty Ass Hoes… Let me rephrase this, Slutty ass Model Hoes, Slutty ass Model Gold Digging hoes.  Once upon a time, before my boyfriend and I were together. He was “Talking”… and by talking I mean probably screwing this Sexy-as-Fuck hot blonde Model thing who posed for Maximum. Or whatever that Mag is. Miraculously – he chose me over her. ME! Like 5’5” 150 lb. with brown eyes and brown hair ME, god forbid I am nothing special, but I must have one hell of a personality.

Pretty F*cking Average

Anyways, she contacted Mr. Sports Car Extraordinaire in regards to taking him to big sky and posing her very sexy –  not very clothed body all over his car. How am I Suppose to deal with this one? Black Italian leather-Views of Big Sky in the back ground-and a sexy Blonde half naked spread eagle on his car. I should just kiss my relationship good bye obviously. I can’t compete with perfect, well $15,000 a couple breast implants and liposuction later, I might could. But not even close.

Well. Now that I have completely stated my story. I feel like Barbie and Ken Should live Happily ever after, after all – it’s not Cowgirl & Ken.. They don’t even make a cowgirl barbie…. anyways, I have a love/hate relationship with this car. And this car, will most likely end out relationship..

The Great Escape

OH MY GOD! Is that a mouse?

Yes, it is.

A cute little brown mouse was scurrying across my boyfriend’s bed early Sunday morning. According to him it was the end of the world; I name him Jerry.

He chases it around the house for several hours pinning it in several corners, every time Jerry outsmarts the tom cat. By this time I’m spoon deep in cereal.

Caught in the Corner

After pleading him to capture it and release it, he convinces me the old fashion mouse traps are the way to go.

Drug out of bed entirely too early to make the venture to Ace Hardware to get very inhumane mouse traps: $48.90 later, he is prepared to hunt.

I beg him not to kill Jerry; after all, we did have a bonding moment that morning in bed. According to my boyfriend if, “That mouse chews up my wiring harness in the Maserati…” I suppose since his car could be jeopardy, I am not fully opposed to killing Jerry.

2pm: He lays the traps one by one in high traffic areas; he steps on them frequently- Payback

3pm: Ventures to Murdoch’s to get cowboy boots

4pm: Get harassed by someone who is obviously not impressed with his car with a “Versace Makes boots” comment

6pm: Return home to realize no traps have been tripped

9pm: See Jerry scurry across the floor & up a wall – Time to call dad

10pm: Lace mouse traps with Peanut butter, thanks to dad

11pm: Dead Jerry

Tom hunting Jerry

After I was done screaming bloody murder and yelling at my boyfriend to kill it and not let it suffer. The blood stained tile was too much.

RIP Jerry.