What, You Didn't Believe Me?

Witness my vanity.

Yeah, She's Better at Some Things, But Look How I'm Flaunting This Body

Big sincere applause mood for Claire rediscovering her blogging groove. No sarcasm -- seriously, I'm being utterly truthful here. On the other hand, eye rolls and a slow-clap of self-mockery for me dragging myself to Blogger like a hooked fish, out of some need to make sure I'm not getting lost in the shuffle.

Fuck that shit, you know? I should blog when I goddamn well feel like blogging. It's not a fucking competition. Literally nothing around here is a fucking competition unless we decide we're actually going to have a competition of fucking, in which case, I win. Maybe tie with Hettie, that girl is a firecracker in bed.

If I'm going to be competitive, even if it's just me trying to hold myself to a higher standard because I'm seeing great things out of my polys, I'd damn sure better stick to my lane.

Like the fact that I'm on the body right now, instead of Claire, and I one-thousand-percent ROCK this shit. Not saying she isn't smoking hot when it's her turn to run this fine piece of sweltering svelte velvet sex-flesh. She's a stunner off or on it. But stick my face on our mutual corpus deliciosus, and the gods fall slobbering from the peak of Mount Olympus.

Girl gods too.

I'm just that mouth-watering. And let's not even talk about who would win a snark-off.

Should I be proud of this shit?

Yes.

Even if it's not really my fault that the universe endowed me with an unmatchable ability to wear a hot body and destroy minds with my scalpel-sharp sarcasm. In this world, you'd better look at yourself, take hold of what's you, own it, and shout to the heavens how great you feel about it.

See? I'm even fucking amazing at psych advice.

Now somebody come let me ride them to paradise while I've got the keys to the sexmobile.