Today I wanna talk about belly buttons. Actually, I only want to discuss the innies and outies of one particular belly button. The mother of all belly buttons, as I discovered this weekend, does in fact belong to Beautiful Boy. It wasn't until his tee had ridden up over his gut (a tiny gut at that) that I got a full view of this colosol bad boy that had a bag of sweets, a £2 coin and a bottle of coke nestled somewhere in between its fluffy contents. Quite impressed by the attention this hairy hole (ick) was getting, BB thought it would be 'entertaining' to see how far something contained within a belly button could travel. In goes a rolled up doily which had been carefully coloured in with wax crayons by our artistic selves and which had been severely tea and vodka stained. You are maybe wondering, if you really even care, how this could not have been uncomfortable but if you'd seen the size of this thing you'd understand that he didnt even notice it was there. The only indication of its presense was the lingering smell. It wasn't til we got to the hotel that we remembered it was there and we knew that this bit of paper (a good fist sized - my favourite size) would have to remain wedged in amongst whatever else was hanging around in there throughout the Kylie concert. I mean who else can say that a special bit of doily travelled from Aberdeen to Glasgow then via a Kylie concert then shopping and to various pubs and then home again? I mean who else would want to? Belly buttons are kinda gross, especially when people make great show of sticking things and fingers in them and out comes a bunch of non identifable goods. It seems all wrong, I think I want an outie *gasp* that was quite a confession, maybe one that I wish I had kept quiet. I don't like things that are unpiercable. You should always be able to have the option, whether you want a bit of metal shoved in your orifices are not. My Beautiful Boy has his sack pierced, at least I guess thats where it is, being a permanent lesbo no one has thought to introduce the male anatomy to me, not formally anyway. Oh I did get to tug on his piercing the other night when it did it's usual pub appearance. It was kinda like 'here, tug my balls' and knowing I would not get this chance again I pulled on it so hard that all was left of ball piercing was a huge gapping hole. No sorry am thinking about that over shagged housewife I saw in a porno once. But I did get to yark his ball piercing. I can't say it did anything for either of us except take my mind off the fact that someone had nicked my Miffy wallet or I had lost it in my drunken 'please don't let me puke' state. I didn't. Puke that is. I drank most of the weekend, in amounts that I have never accomplished (7 drinks on Monday, my good lord) and I did not puke. In fact I have not puked in way over a week ( I think) and am very proud of non spewing phase and live in hope that my puking which I have decided is as good as psychological has come to an end. You will mock me with 'pukey fee' no more I tell you.
Listening to: kiss kiss, maybe cos i wanna :-(