Cave of Lurve

Sometimes a girl just needs to veg out. I've been vegging out as often as possible lately, and I'm blaming the weather, so this isn't a guilt blog. This is a 'effing yeah I'm vegging out!' blog.

This weekend I escaped to the third floor of Blytheholm. And I stayed there, laying my lazy aura all around the place while I hid away from the world of social butterflies and gay silk scarf ties.

Even the awesome plans with my girlfriend couldn't compete with my cave of amazingness. I was able to convince her (with free booze - oh, the cleverness of me!) that this place was better than any old, boring, expensive bar. Problem with this plan was that I forgot that my girlfriend and I are friends for two reasons: 1) we hate other people's engagement announcements, and 2) we love to drink. When one's rich and beautiful boyfriend buys a 2-4 and tells us to help ourselves while he's away making even more money, I don't think he thought we'd finish most of it. But remember when we did just that?

Good times. But that was pretty much my extent of talking with other people that weekend. Well, other people who weren't computers. I became quite good at the Xbox.

A creepy stalker, who is also blind, would probably guess I was playing fighter games like Mortal Combat. But no. I get violent when I race cars.

Of course, I'm no loner. I did have the boy toy with me. We spent so much time together that our movements had ceased to borderline-death, which in turn made our communication skills slightly worse than futile.

Then there was the hour I found Beef-a-roni. So, so, so, so, sooooo good. I got to have the whole can to myself because the boyfriend had apparently OD'd on yummy foods like Beef-a-roni and Kraft Dinner when he was a child. Since I was allowed neither of those things (yes, I'm still holding resentment), I'm making up for it now. I love the way it stains the dish-scrubber bright red. Mmmmmm...

But then...

I feel fat, and the boyfriend has to convince me that he likes a bit of tummy on a woman.

He also gets to pretend that he doesn't hear me sleeping. I have a feeling he doesn't get the good end of the deal most of the time.

Just a note - I'm not actually that lazy. Really. I read excersise and diet blogs. I even sometimes order the dressing on the side. And my pants still fit. Oh, plus, yesterday I didn't have any beer. At all. I know!