I went to the post office today. Do you know all the hoops they make you jump through before renting a PO Box? I’ve felt more at ease during a pap smear. But whatever. I choked down my discomfort and approached the woman with a sassy I’m-not-50-yet haircut so I could receive mail as Vagina Drum.
She immediately noticed that I, like a dumb ass, authorized my own proof of residency on the form and flatly told me, “That’s not your job.” Yeah OK I know that now, but it wasn’t her job to make me feel like Corky that time he got behind the wheel of a car and almost killed his entire high school. Unlike a pap smear, I couldn’t comfort myself with the fact that she’s probably seen much worse, because coming off as someone who is paying for her genitals to receive mail is like rolling out the droopiest set of beef curtains ever.
Eventually she handed over the keys and promptly told me she was going on her break (to fan herself, I guess) so I would have to seek someone else for help in the event that the keys didn’t work. Spoiler: they did.
Which is why I can tell you that I am now able to receive mail without fear of anyone coming to my physical address and stealing my Troll doll collection. The address can be found here or copied down here:
VaginaDrum.com
P.O. Box 6331
Bend OR, 97708
I accept all forms of fanaticism and contempt. Also a plus: drawings that depict me riding some sort of large cat while doing really cool and awesome things with Justin Timberlake.
I bought a cupcake shake last night from Burger King. I didn’t get a picture of it because there isn’t a camera in existence that would’ve been able to capture it in the time before it was devoured. The cupcake shake mimics the taste of cake batter, but the best part is that you don’t have to worry about getting salmonella or diarrhea from the raw eggs (well…it’s Burger King so you probably still do BUT it’s totally worth it). There’s a dollop of whipped cream with sprinkles on top and what I think is ACTUAL CAKE at the bottom. Oh and it comes with what they call a ‘BK Pipe’ (straw) which is about the size of a hot dog. Full disclosure? I’m typing with one hand right now.
I had to fight for this shake. My boyfriend was skeptical and so was hesitant to take the plunge with me. But cake and I are total buds and since I’ve never been let down by anything that tastes like it, my faith didn’t waver. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Can we get a cupcake shake from Burger King?
Him: No, we have to eat dinner first.
Me: Ok, well can we go after dinner?
Him: Maybe.
Me: Ok so we’ll go after dinner.
Him: We’ll go a few hours after dinner.
Me: NO, AS SOON AS DINNER IS FINISHED. AS SOON AS WE PUT OUR FORKS DOWN.
Him: But we’ll be full from dinner.
Me: I’ll break everything you love and make you watch.
Conclusion? I was inhaling my shake within the hour. The point is – I know how to negotiate. Sure, I have to resort to petty threats and sometimes even pretend I have a gun, but I get results.
In a related and less violent note, I’ve been nominated in the 2009 Weblog Awards for Best Humor Blog. When I see shit like this I usually have an in-depth conversation with myself about the nerve of some people to ask me to stop refreshing Twitter for the 52nd time in the last half hour to leave the page and click on something else. Then I’ll egg myself on to say something and finally take these people to task, but talk myself out of it so I can listen to ‘Candy Rain’ again. So I know it’s a pain in the ass. But you have until November 20th to click here and vote by clicking the green button next to this comment:
I’m dropping all my weapons. I couldn’t ever threaten any of you because honestly, I love you more than cake.
This is what I see…every day.
I’ve recently changed hosting and as a result, any email that was sent to mail@vaginadrum.com in the last 24 hours was not received. Re-send it and I’ll be sure to get back to you, unless you’re the one who keeps asking me for pictures of my boobs, but…maybe even then.
I talk about being unemployed a lot. Part of this is because I have this idea that if I seem really sad, then someone will read this and give me a job where I play video games, eat pizza flavored Pringles and make snarky comments about Brooke Hogan. The other part is that I’m unemployed, so when I am playing video games, eating pizza flavored Pringles and making snarky comments about Brooke Hogan, I have a lot of time on my hands to think about how I can’t possibly stand one more day of this.
As a side effect, I get handfuls of emails asking me why I don’t have ads because I could totally monetize my blog. By monetize I’m sure they mean, ‘Spend years waiting to exceed Google’s $100 minimum so you can finally buy those Air Jordans’ but whatever. Usually, I’m asked what kind of traffic I get (I’m assuming in order to determine whether I can make .10 or .40 a day), and somehow, it never stops feeling like instead, I’m being asked to wear a mesh thong for 24 hours and send it off in a Ziploc bag in exchange for pictures of someone jerking off into it.
Either way, I don’t have ads on VD because I hate them. It’s not about being anti-corporation or anti anything, really. It comes down simply to the fact that I actually read my own blog (douche) and sometimes I even giggle so I’d rather not be distracted when I’m trying to think about how many more times I can get away with mentioning Boyz II Men. My writing is the only tool I have to reconcile the reality that my life is mine, no matter how many times it deviates from the plan I originally mapped out, and I would be wasting everyone’s time if I were motivated by making $2.50 a month. The thing is, I don’t care about attracting the hundreds of visitors who come here searching for pictures of my cunt, but I definitely care about that one person who comes here to read about what I have to say when it comes to Jesus themed porn.
There’s understandably a lot of opposition to ads dealing mostly with how they are kind of like a mix of Insane Clown Posse’s Greatest Hits and the stench of Mickey Rourke’s weave in your internet all the time. There’s even a collection of tasteful icons you can display on your blog, proclaiming to everyone that you are “opposed to the use of corporate advertising on blogs”, “feel the use of corporate advertising on blogs devalues the medium”, and “do not accept money in return for advertising space…” If I ever decide to submit completely to the fact that I’m full of shit, maybe I’ll put an ad on my blog proclaiming that I don’t condone ads on my blog. Until then, I can only promise two things–I will never try to sell you weight loss pills or funny but not really t-shirts, and when I inevitably swallow a dick with my ass, I will take copious mental notes throughout so I can share every single detail.
