Gay Husbands Make the World Go Round

I really can't say enough about how important My Gay Husband is to me.  I would not be NannyGarcia without him, considering he dressed me the day Coco and Bobby Habibi interviewed me.  He would have never let me out the house with my tie dye tshirt and dread locks.  He even made me shave my legs!  This was a big deal because I had not shaved my legs in about 4 months, and the hair on my legs was so long that I could feel the breeze blowing through them when I wore shorts jorts.  It sounds gross, but it was an interesting feeling for a girl.  ANYWAY: Gay Husbands intuitively know when to let their fag hags wives look a hot mess (like me, 29 days of the month) and when to put their gay foot down.  

So look at this picture (which I believe is originally from Design Sponge):

I don't know this lady, but she is very pretty and fancy.  But you know what's missing from this picture?  Her Gay Husband.  If she had one, he would have pulled her aside and said: "Gurl, I know it's your wedding day, but your hair is looking fug and you clearly need some help.  But don't you worry, gurl, cuz I am going to take care of you." And then he would have whipped a flat iron out of his murse and fixed that fried thing on top of her head.   

Ok, so if anyone knows this pretty and fancy lady, tell her to get a gay husband before her next wedding. 

Silver Lining

I have recently noticed a lot of fancy important people spouting all sorts of boring $$ talky shit.  I'm not really listening but I recently joined Bossy's Poverty Party because I keep trying to figure out what's going on here (she is also very important, but more attractive than Alan Greenspan, so I feel she's better equipped to explain this to me).  Where did all the money go?  And who exactly is poor these days?  Because I'm still having to run SUVs off the road with my even bigger SUV. 

What I'm trying to say is that while I love poor Americans, I love poor foreign people even more.  To help them out I'm having Trixie and Dash Trick-or-Treat for UNICEF this Friday night.  The idea is simple. Visit their website here and either order a little box (they're free) or you can print out the design and make your own!  This is great if you have kids (for obvious reasons) but it's also great for big kids (like My Gay Husband) who wish they didn't seem so creepy parading around the neighborhood in their Halloween costume.  Now you have an excuse to wear all that stuff you bought at the sex shop!!

Another Day, Another Chance to Get It Right

Today is the first day of the rest of my life.  I know I say that every year month week day, but THIS TIME I'm really really going to do it.  

I want to gush about my new life plans (which currently include a move to Colorado + a medical marijuana license) to My Gay Husband but we are in a fight (which he doesn't know about yet).  So instead I'm text-gushing to My Older Man Friend.  He's not responding probably because he was asleep 5 hours ago (right after he had his Metamucil and Werther's Original).  I've never been able to truly explain the subtle nuances of our relationship.  My Older Man Friend is no gay husband, but he's pretty much as close as a vag-loving man can get (meaning he's old - and married - enough that he's asexual).  There are a lot of other reasons I love My Older Man Friend.  Like because he carries a gun.  And sometimes wears all denim.   And likes putting out my cigarettes because he knows a cool way to do it.  And loves talking about Project Runway and his fat ass and how nobody gets us because they're not as fabulous and/or funny as we are. I guess he's like an older brother except he was a high school accident and I'm more of a later-in-life accident (sheesh - you would think our hypothetical mother would have gotten the hang of birth control after TWENTY years). 

But I really don't have any use for either of these penis-having fools on this, THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF MY LIFE, because they are fucking downers.  Some people might appreciate brutal honesty, but frankly, I have never been able to figure out what's so appealing about regular honestly, much less the brutal kind.  I much prefer my friends to just politely nod and go along with my hairbrained schemes / diets / new life plans.  I mean, standing idly by while I flounder around is the least you can do.  Save that advice and mail it off to Oprah because I'm not having none of that shiz.    

UPDATE:

I know y'all (and by y'all I mean all six of ya) were as upset as I was over My Gay Husband 's telecommunicative drought (see post below). I HAVE GOOD NEWZ!! My Gay Husband got a new phone!! Perfect timing too as I was already sending out mass texts to boys whose names I spell T-R-O-U-B-L-E. It was also just in time for him to relate to me the following story:

My Gay Husband's favorite thing to do is hit it and quit it, to divide (the butt cheeks) and conquer. However, he has recently been struck by what the Jonas Brothers call "the luv bug." This penis pursuit has got him head over heels, acting a damn fool. All of his typical tactics have failed him and, confidence shattered, he has been left a mere shell of his smug self. On this particular evening, he left campus with the honest intentions of returning home. Long story short, he FOLLOWS this guy he likes in his car. Follows ... as in STALKS.

I should add that while My Gay Husband was telling me this story, he was soaking luxuriously in a freshly drawn bath, lights dimmed, tub alit by scented candles ... because that's just how MGH rolls on a Friday night.

So this is why I love My Gay Husband, as well my friends Dora, Chocolate, and Bobbie Jean. It's not simply because they are as crazy and pathetic as I am. Everyone is crazy and pathetic. Everybody has weird shit going on their lives. I love these people because they are willing to admit it, to laugh about it, to blog about it, and to embrace it as ironicly divine&pitiful human nature.

Such is life, y'all.

Coping

I continually battle to keep my chin up, look on the bright side, stay away from the Valium, all that jazz. But this week has been particularly hard because My Gay Husband, who still lives in Mississippi, dropped his phone in a toilet. Thus, I have had to live without our daily 4 hours of chat time (the worst part is I am not exaggerating by very much).

This is just awful as My Gay Husband functions primarily to reel in the Krazy. Without him, my Krazy starts peaking out all over the place. The last time my Krazy got the best of me I ended up dating the Moroccan guy who plays Aladdin at Disney World.

But the upside of all this is that we will have so much to talk about when he gets a new phone. Usually our phone calls revolve around things what we've most recently eaten, bought, or slept with. But since we are both so obsessive, we end up talking about the same biscuit, blouse, and boy over and over again (don't act like you don't love biscuits and blouses too!).

So if you see My Gay Husband, let him borrow your phone for a few hours, will ya? I can't come home with anymore boyfriends or else Coco is going to have to get me another closet.