This Week I Discovered Hot Sauce, Held a Pants Funeral, and Had Multiple Laughgasms... | Tarreyn Land: This Week I Discovered Hot Sauce, Held a Pants Funeral, and Had Multiple Laughgasms...

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

This Week I Discovered Hot Sauce, Held a Pants Funeral, and Had Multiple Laughgasms...

It was a big week.

I'll start with the Hot Sauce.

I don't know about other parts of the country, but where I live, people put Hot Sauce on everything. I have spent YEARS of my life scoffing at the weirdos and the odd-taste-budded for piling on the Tabasco. It just seemed unnatural. 
Then finally, this week, I took the plunge, and dolled up my cheese pizza with some Chalula.

Game. Effing. Changed. 

The problem now is that I want to eat pizza even more. And that's saying a lot considering pizza takes up a good 40% of my daily thoughts.
Yes I'm serious.
Ok, maybe it's like 20% pizza and 20% about the beer I want to drink with said pizza, but we'll just round it. 

Thanks a lot, Hot Sauce.
No... Seriously... Thank you. 
I love you.

Now we move on to the Pants Funeral.

Have you ever had a perfect pair of pants?
I'm not talking about the kind that you really really like and wear a lot or the kind that you wear every single day.
I'm talking about the kind of pants that are so perfect you smile just thinking about them. The kind of pants that get you through the good times and the bad. (Also known as the skinny days and the fat.)
The kind of pants that when they finally rip in that unsightly place between your thigh and your butt - that place that no patch can fix - that place where all pants inevitably do rip - you literally WEEP?!
That kind?!
Well I have. And they just died.

I went through all the five stages of grief:

Denial: They're fine! No one will even see that part of my body where they're ripped!
Bargaining: Ok, if I can just find a way to patch these up, all will be well.
Depression: What's the point of even getting dressed? No outfit is worth it without my black stovepipes.
Acceptance: Literally half of my butt is now showing -  I can't fight it anymore.

The term funeral may have been a bit excessive.
All I did was make a slideshow of all the good times we had together set to a certain 90's Sarah McLachlan song...

I'm totally fucking with you.
It was to "Endless Love"

It's only one of three inannimate objects I've truly mourned - the earlier two being a pair of pink tweety bird high tops in third grade and my hunk-o-junk amazing first car.
Man, I miss those guys.

Fortunately I didn't spend too much time mourning my jeans, because A) I discovered American Apparal's Easy Jeans (A.Mazing) and B) had a really hilarious week -  which leads us to the laughgasm...

This last week between rolling on the floor at work with one of my best friends laughing so hard it hurt, as well as visiting my bestie and the 3 bottles of champagne we consumed, I have decided to officially coin the term Laughgasm.

Ya know when you laugh so hard and so long that your body just feels SO GOOD after? 
It's like a super cathartic experience that leaves you with a total high? When you can barely breathe after and your stomach hurts but it doesn't matter because you basically just OD'd on endorphins, and everything feels amazing, even though you were having such a good time you literally knocked a couch over, and it didn't even matter because that made you laugh even harder?
THAT's a laughgasm.

You read it here first:


the physical and emotional sensation experienced at the peak of hilarious excitation, usually resulting from stimulation of the humor gland and usually accompanied by shortness of breath and continued giggling.
an instance of experiencing this.
intense or unrestrained laughter for a prolonged period of time.
an instance or occurrence of such excitement.

None of these events particularly tie together, but somehow create a real through-line of my week. 
It's been a good time.

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