not gonna do it. sorry.

Sometimes I skip one day of blogging and my brother Jason thinks I must have died or something.

And sometimes I say something that makes perfect sense in the context of whatever it is I am talking about, but when isolated, it can sound pretty bad.

Or funny, depending upon how you look at it.

Like today, for instance.

When I was talking with Shane, telling him about a conversation I was recently party to with some friends. Basically one friend was asking another friend (who is straight, for the record) if he would engage in, uh…non-straight relations… in exchange for ten millions dollars. My friend thought about it for about half of a second before saying, Absolutely. It’s ten million dollars. Then the question was posed to another friend of mine–who again, happens to be straight–and she was like, Of course. TEN MILLION DOLLARS, FOOLS.

But when they asked me, I was all, Nope. Not now, not ever. I’ll get a job, thanks. Er, but not that job. And as I was recounting this to Shane, I was getting more and more passionate about it, telling him that God could provide for my needs without me having to get all sexy for it. And the more I got into it, the higher my voice raised, until I ended my diatribe by loudly pronouncing:

SHANE, I WILL NOT HAVE SEX FOR MONEY!!!

At which point Shane asked me if I could say it a little louder please, because the fishermen who were about ten feet away from us might not have been totally clear on what it was I was talking about.

But then again, considering the way I shouted it, they just might have been.

And can you imagine overhearing that statement, and that statement alone, between a girl and a guy just sitting and minding their business? After hearing something like that, suddenly their business just became a whole lot shadier, I suppose.  Or maybe it’s his business that got shadier.

And hahahahaha, we laughed a long time about that one.

And we also laughed about how one of the guys who was fishing nearby yelled over to us, asking us what kind of sandwiches we were eating. Because, who does that? Who asks total strangers what kind of sandwiches they’re eating, like it’s their business? And it’s not that we minded telling this guy, but we just thought it was even funnier when he could barely believe that we weren’t eating something with shrooms in it.

In fact, we ran into him again a little later in the day and he asked us if we were sure those sandwiches didn’t have shrooms in them. Like we’d forgotten that they did last time he asked us, but now that we were high or something, Ohhhhh right–they did have shrooms in them, after all! I think it was really disappointing to him that they were simply filled with plain old peanut butter and nutella. Can’t please ‘em all, I guess.

Oh, and he also asked if I go to Avon Grove High School. Good one. And once he found out that I do not, he asked if I was a hair stylist.

Because I guess it has to be one or the other.

And for the record: No, I will NOT have sex for money; I stand by what I said.