What up, TSPeeps? So, I got to thinking. You guys know my deepest thoughts. You know so much serious, real shit about me and that’s all cool and dandy but there is this whole other side to me. See…. I am crazy. Not clinically or anything like that. I am fun crazy. The kind of crazy that amazes people. I amaze myself sometimes. I have complete control over the things I do and say it’s just I have a condition and it’s called “I don’t give a shit”. 2/3 of the time I choose to act on my thoughts/say what pops into my head. I do this 100% of the time to entertain myself. I am my biggest fan. It just so happens my antics make other people laugh too which makes not giving a shit a really awesome condition. I realize this post may cause me to be single for the rest of my life but I am willing to take one for the TSPteam. I am cool with that because it’s due time you mammerjammers got to feast your eyes on thisssssssssssss.
Here are a few moments in my life where I didn’t give a shit and it was fucking awesome.
Here I am posing in front of one of my childhood friends houses. I drove there and had a friend snap this picture. I have no idea why.
I used to throw 4th of July parties and sing Happy Birthday to America when the clock struck 12. Here I am pictured wearing one of my moms buntings as a shirt. I got yelled at.
And then I prefer to eat the hamburger cake like a hamburger.
This here is my dad’s sausage.
This is my fur coat, Joan Collins. I tried selling her and this is the picture I used to entice a buyer. Surprisingly it was not a good sales tactic. She is hanging in my closet at the moment.
Here I am holding up my local 7-11. I went there everyday. The fact that Froggy, my favorite clerk, recognized me while wearing my banana mustache disguise blew my mind. And I would think someone with a gun being pointed at them would not be laughing. What a dip shit.
I was hot.
I have a masculine side.
Sadly, these aren’t my natural breasts in the picture above. Hard to believe, I know. They are lemon titties. We were making limoncello at Lauren’s in laws house. Now that I think about it I haven’t been invited back since.
I usually start doing shit like this an hour into meetings.
My first keg stand after the birth of my son. I know how to celebrate. I got yelled at by my dad because he saw me doing it out of the window. I was 31 years old here.
My son and nephews wanted me to paint their faces one Sunday afternoon. I am a clown who doesn’t take requests. They get the same thing every single time. Facial hair. I drank some limoncello and went to town on myself. Spent the rest of the afternoon like this. Had neighbors and family over. No one thought it was weird.
I was a mime for Halloween which was actually kind of cute. My kids, niece and nephews wanted to add a little face paint at the end of the night. I drank gin. Notice the eyes. Gives it away every time.
It was fun until she used my hair as a reign.
A lovely Rickshaw ride on a beautiful evening in Chicago.
I get yelled at a lot for ruining their pictures.
This here is a favorite of mine. I am photographed here at Epcot Center. I had no idea who this woman with the broken foot on the motorized cart is. I hijacked her rascal and we went for a ride. This was a huge risk. It could have gone two ways and I am happy to report she didn’t report me to the EpCops. We are now friends.
This is how I used to entertain the littles on the weekends. I always had way more fun with it than they did.
This took place in Mexico for Lauren and The Mister Projects nuptials. Deanna (our lovely Australian sister) and I had just broken into Lauren and The Mister Project’s safe which was located in their hotel room. The hotel workers thought I was Lauren (people frequently confuse the two of us) and they gave me the code to their safe. I was able to escape the scene of the crime without looking suspicious.
I caught quite a chill at my best friends wedding and found this warm and cozy, genuine grizzly bear hide in the men’s dressing room at the Golf Club. Warmest thing I ever did wear. It has since then been returned by the groom who gave me a little talking to. Again, I got yelled at.
I have no idea what is going on here. Notice my beautiful friend and my handlebar mustache. She could give a shit. I love that about her.
Meet Ginny. I turn into her when I consume gin. See that look in my eyes? That’s her. She doesn’t come out to play often but when she does you should hope to be there. Great, incredible, funny shit happens once the switch takes place.
Like this, for example. Here I am doing a pretty impressive split. What you don’t know is I hadn’t done the splits in years. I woke up unable to walk from a pretty intense hamstring pull. Since Ginny is who actually did the splits, I didn’t feel a god damn thing until the next morning when I awoke, of course. Take a moment to see my dear friend in the background. That is pure amazement. She had front row seats to a Ginny show and I delivered.
Here is another night out with Ginny. My friend and I accidentally stole a few loaves of marble loaf from a guy delivering them to Starbucks. He left them in the middle of the sidewalk. Fair game? I was trying to hide the evidence. Again, please observe the eyes. This is Ginny, not me.
I think it’s fair to say I like to have a little fun. xo