Yo! Those of You With BallsTesticles Please Answer This...

...why doesn't one just come out and say one wants to get more serious, instead of asking about starting a business together and talking about how one's biological clock urgently wants to impregnate something?

Not Talking in Circles: Is it that fucking hard?

Wherein I Become Una Nonna Italiana

I haven't done the Thanksgiving-in-Rome thing for three years, mainly because living with Mr. Pervy Bear during those times was not exactly conducive to throwing dinner parties as he'd squick out and/or annoy everyone, me included.

So with a new flat to baptise, Thanksgiving provides the perfect opportunity to throw the first of many parties, piss off our nosy doorwoman, and shove my face full of turkey and stuffing, banishing any forms of pasta from the evening's repast. And I can't wait for the turkey-stuffing-mayo leftover sandwiches that are part and parcel of Happy Kill an Injun day. *drools*

But in shopping for foodstuffs this morning, I have taken an irrevocable step towards becoming a stooped, sensible black shoe wearing Italian nonna. As the street market closest to my flat doesn't have butcher stalls, I made the trek over to Mercato Esquilino on the other side of the train station to buy the all important bird. Around 18 people for dinner means a rather large bird is necessary, plus all of the various side dishes and trimmings. There's no way in sweet Dante's hell that i could carry a 8.5 kilo turkey (almost 19 lbs) plus other assorted crap all the way back across the station to the flat.

I was forced to buy one of those little grocery trolleys. In a sensible red plaid pattern. No black. No rhinestones. No perverse sayings stencilled on the sides. Sensible tacky red plaid. Ick. I have never felt more like a domesticated dork; walking home i felt like everyone was trying to guess how many kids i had at home and where my husband was.

Don't ask why I was thinking this; my nearest guess was an inferiority complex induce by too little caffeine this morning.

Happy You-Give-Us-Food-We-Give-You-Syphilis-and-Smallpox Day

How to Give Me a Panic Attack

While dissecting the conversation that had me hyperventilating the day before, remind me that my dad has twin boys and I might therefore be genetically predisposed to having twins.

I'm gonna kill Curly.

How to Make Me Hyperventilate

Talk about how lately you've been getting urges to have kids. Specifically a daughter.

I need a paper bag just thinking about it.

Addendum:

Looking on the bright side, I can use this information in the purchase of his birthday present for Sunday. I plan on buying him a pair of baby booties and a set of training wheels for his motorcycle.

Superbly Hungover

BG has headed off for 2 months to visit Fucking Possessive Jealous French Canadian Leech from Hell and as last night was the birthday of BG's Niece's (Also known as Miss Outdrinks the Russian Army) I was reluctantly corralled into going out with her.

I say reluctantly as i knew that I would wake up with a massive fecking hangover today. BG's Niece is a wild one; not exactly trustworthy, but always a lot of fun. I haven't really seen her for a while as I didn't go out with BG very much when the Leech was still in town.

We go to an Argentinian restaurant and, over a bottle of Don Pedro-or-something Cabernet, begin what's probably the biggest gossip session of my life. Seated at a table next to us is an older couple and their friend who leaves them for another appointment.

BG's Niece and i gossip about everything from whether the Leech will propose to work crapola to someone's petty little grudge against me. Eventually we reach the topic that, much like Newton's First Law of Motion, all conversations eventually degenerate into: sex.

Bite Me PETA

I'm making clams again tonight.

*POP!*
*POP!**POP!*
*POP!**POP!**POP!**POP!**POP!*
*POP!**POP!**POP!**POP!**POP!**POP!**POP!**POP!**POP!**POP!*
*POP!**POP!**POP!**POP!**POP!**POP!**POP!**POP!**POP!**POP!*

Wheeeeeeeeee! Die you succulent little morsels of seaflesh!

One for the Ladies

alternate title: Election? What election?
Vive la France, darlings via Monkeyfilter

If there was any question as to why I hate people in general...

...this comment on MeFi illustrates it perfectly. It looks like the Kill-Them-Ragheads-They-Hate-Our-Freedom and It's-Adam-and-Eve-Not-Adam-and-Steve Retards have just royally fucked over our country. Way to simultaneously send a big ol' "Fuck You" to the rest of the world at large and ensure the economy continues it's journey to the sewers.

I wonder if I can declare refugee status....