I aim so low, I didn’t even write this.

I’m the worst guest blogger ever. In typical lazy girl fashion I outsourced my Aiming Low blog post to my friend Kelli. She’s used to that. Kelli is a math teacher and when I took college algebra last year I faxed her every bit of my homework. She happily completed the assignments and faxed them back. Um.. nerd much? Clearly she has nothing better to do than act as my bitch. Thank fucking God!

Kelli misses having tasks to complete for me. Plus I’d much rather take my pants off and drink myself into a red wine coma than write.

Okay, first of all, I’m not a nerd. Everyone knows that nerds wear glasses, and my glasses didn’t escape from the last book of the Twilight series. This may or may not be referring to the fact that I threw them at a city bus in a fit of rage because the series, like, totally jumped the shark.

So I no longer have glasses, which means I can’t be a nerd.

But maybe if I were a nerd, I would be really smart and could therefore figure out how to be a better girlfriend to my man, Scott.

Actually, I’m not a girlfriend so much as a fiancée, which, by the way, is a word I hate. The word just serves as a giant reminder that I still haven’t set a wedding date, let alone come to terms with the fact I have to plan a wedding–a giant responsibility that I just don’t want to think about.  I’d much rather think about how to break up the affair between Scott and the neighbor.

Scott and I bought a house together three years ago. After we moved into our supposed suburban bliss, Scott started hanging out with the neighbor.  At which point they fell in love. I guess I don’t really blame him. The neighbor is one smoking hot piece of ass.

Big, hairy man ass.

I’m also a hot piece of ass. Sure, sometimes I smell like maple syrup on a Tuesday, even though I haven’t eaten pancakes since Saturday, but who doesn’t see the sex appeal there? Scott. That’s who. He’s not turned on by that, nooooo. Instead he’s turned on by the smells of flatulence and beer. Of which the neighbor, based on Scott’s obsession with him, radiates like a bitch in heat.

Pheromones aside, Scott is probably more interested in the neighbor because I don’t always put out.  It’s not my fault I’m too tired from working out, cleaning and cooking to enjoy sexy time.  Sometimes (read: frequently) I lie and plead the case of headaches, cramps, or white, smelly discharge so I can enjoy bedtime in peace and quiet. My idea of peace and quiet does not include being poked from all angles at all times of the night.

I rarely feel guilty for lying about such things. I wouldn’t call it lying so much as using my god-given talent to avoid doing anything that doesn’t benefit me to the fullest extent of the law.

Okay… Maybe it’s just lying, BUT I figure we’re not officially married, so Jesus is cool with me lying if it means avoiding fornication.  Everyone knows that Jesus cancels out lies when you tell them to avoid a sin.

I digress.

The point is, Scott is having an affair with the neighbor, and our relationship is in serious trouble.  I’ll do anything in my power to stop this affair. You know, as long as it doesn’t involve me showering more than once a week, having sex on an as-needed basis, or change my life in any way.

But other than that, I’d do anything, because true love is worth it.

Ok, so this Three Day Weekend post was submitted by the always funny Sarah from Tales of Wit and Charm, however, it appears to have been written by the super fabulous Kelli, of Ambiguously Shallow.