2000-08-27
Dear Diary:

    The one time I got crabs, sex was not involved (at least not sex for me.)

    This, in a nutshell, sums up my life.

    Someone else has all the fun.

    I get critters.

    Feel free to stop laughing at any time.

    It happened the summer Paul was here building our home. I was living in the city with my sister, who had the spare bedroom in our apartment. Paul was living at his parents' home.

    Every two weeks we would get together for ummmm stimulating conversation, yes, that's it, stimulating conversation, alternating between me coming down to the country and him visiting in the city.

    It all happened after one of my weekends down here with Paul. I stumble back into the apartment late Sunday night exhausted because Paul and I had been doing a lot of conversing and not a lot of sleeping.

    I had a major sleep deficit to overcome, so I just crawled into my bed and was out like a light within minutes.

    A few days later I notice a peculiar itch Down There. At first I put it down to the vigour of our weekend of conversing but the following day it was an itch that refused to be scratched.

    That was the day my sister sheepishly confessed that she had crabs and she and the gentleman who had so generously shared his critters with her Had Used My Bed in my absence. Ewwwwwww.

    You can imagine how crabby I was about THAT. (Oh, like YOU wouldn't make this very same pun. Besides, you KNOW puns make me giddy with happiness.)

    Fortunately, it was all cleared up before the next conversation. I don't even want to think about what would have happened if I had brought critters down to the boonies with me for one of our bi-weekly chats.

    I used to think I was the only woman who got crabby without sex. Maybe Queerscribe's mom and I should start a club, eh.

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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�2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.