The Disease known as "MySpace"

If you didn't know, I have MS – no, not MySpace – Multiple Sclerosis.  The two, however, are very similar, and I'll get to my theory on that in a minute. 

That being said, I'm going to do something here I wouldn't normally do.  And you'll only hear about it one other time – shortly before the event.  I am walking in the local Multiple Sclerosis walk on April 21^st.  I had my choice of 1, 3 or 5 miles.  I opted for the 3 miles only because with MS, I don't know how bad it will wreck me for the rest of the day if I did more.  I think I can get by with three miles.  ANYHOW – I need to collect 2 things:  other walkers for my team and people to sponsor me.  The walk is on April 21, 2007 here in good old Richmond.  Festivities start with a dog parade at 9:00 AM, though I believe the actual walk starts at 10:00 AM. 

 

If you're anywhere near here, come out and walk with me.  I thought afterward, we could all get together for food and frolicking.  If you can't, will you consider sponsoring me? 

 

If you want to do either, GO HERE.  On the left, you'll see buttons that say "Support Kim" and "Join Kim".  If you want to walk, pick "Join Kim" and register.  All you have to do is collect $25 in sponsors, show up and walk a little bit.  If you don't want to walk, but you'll feel guilty about not helping, pick "Support Kim" and made a donation online.  It's safe, secure, and tax deductible.  ALL support is appreciated, whether it be $5 or $500.  Come on – you can do it!

 

And now, my exposé on how MySpace is similar to Multiple Sclerosis (from here on out, MS).  And yes, the similarities between the two can be funny (at least they are to me), so laugh and giggle if you'd like.  I won't be mad.  BUT if you're going to laugh for a really long time, your ass better donate to my cause!  OH!  And I forgot to mention for all of you narcissists out there, if you donate through that website, you get your name on the little donation tally thingie-ma-bob.  Everyone will see it.  You'll be famous. 

 

Both are unpredictable 

One day, MySpace is chugging along and all is well.  Then suddenly, your account is undergoing special maintenance and you can't log on at all.  Sometimes you're messed up for an entire day, sometimes only for an hour or two.  You have no warnings about when it's going to happen.  Would it be so hard for Tom to send you a message that says:  Hey!  We're going to do special maintenance on all accounts whose user names start with P."  That would certainly be nice, but no!  Tom is a bastard. 

 

MS is similar because you seem to have no symptoms and then wake up one day and you have a whole host of new symptoms that seemed to come from out of nowhere.  They can last an hour, a day, or be permanent.  You don't know, you never know.  MS, like Tom, is a bastard. 

    

Things don't always work right
MySpace:  Will bulletins work properly?  Will I be notified of new blogs from those I subscribe to?  If so, will I be able to comment on them?  Can I get mail?  Can I respond to comments? 

 

MS:  Will I be able to walk tomorrow?  Will I be visually impaired tomorrow?  Will my memory suddenly go in the middle of the night?  Will my hands go numb?  Will I be able to wipe my own ass, or will I need to call someone to help me?  Incidentally, everyone should send me their phone number so if I'm ever stranded on the toilet, you can come help me.  Jerry can't be home all of the time you know. 

 

You don't really WANT to deal with either one, but sometimes you have to

Have you ever spent the day enjoying life, shopping, hanging out with family and friends, or whatever it is you're doing.  And you just can't wait to get home and log on.  Because it's calling you:

"Gary – you may have blog comments you should respond to!" 

"Meagan – you may have new friend requests – you should log on and find out!" 

"Siranda – somewhere, someone might be talking about underwear.  Get online!" 

 

And you just do it, don't you?

 

 "Tina – somewhere, someone needs you to talk about the natural bra!" 

"Cranky Ricky – there are donuts…" Oh wait, that last one is not MySpace, but Krispy Kreme.  Not a good example.

 

With MS, there's no cure, it's always there.  I can't just turn it off.    It's always there, even when I'm out having a good time.  I can try to ignore it, but I always have to deal with it, eventually. 

 

You know, it's no wonder that I gravitate to MySpace.  I already deal with this kind of crap on a daily basis, I'm good at it.   You should also know that they say MS can affect your sex life.  So maybe one day, I won't want to have sex - ever.  And then, I'll stop talking about it.  And Jack will feel like I don't love him anymore.  And that's just wrong, which brings this blog full circle. Donate now so that my vibrator will not have to spend a single day feeling unloved.  Do it for Jack. 

Cryptic messages, Unspoken Words

I've written three blogs in my head and none of them are fit for posting, just because I've decided to leave those subjects private. Let me see if this helps get the things stuck in my head out of it. Sorry for the cryptic messages here, consider this the diary part of my blog. Sometimes I believe that the people these things are meant for will somehow see this and know exactly what it is I'm talking about.


1. As much as I dreaded it, I'm glad I talked to you two on Saturday. I may roll my eyes when I talk about you, but that's because it's hard.

2. I miss you both, more than words can say and I wish you were still here to enjoy all that life has given us.

3. Just like with the rest of them, it was so hard at first, but it's getting easier and I can finally look at myself in the mirror again and know I've done the right thing.

OK, sorry about that. And now, I bring you something much more appropriate for my mood today. And (why do I always feel the need to say this?) – it's not about my marriage. It's just writing.



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The neon sign blinked erratically in the night - VACANCY. It was at once a welcome sight, having not seen anything but trees and litter on the side of the road for the past 2 hours. As she pulled her car in front of the motel, the "NO" flickered on. It was almost as if the night clerk saw her coming and knew that her kind didn't belong there. "Damn it!" she muttered as she tore out of the parking lot. All she wanted was a place to lay her head. Was that too much to ask? She was so tired.


She drove on until she found a truck stop and knew that it was a good place to close her eyes for a few hours. She pulled in, locked herself in the car and turned off her engine. She stretched out across the rear seat and thought about where she had been and where she was headed.


She thought about how much fun she had at first. Their life together was filled with laughter. They seemed to anticipate each other's moves and thoughts. However, time had changed them both and the changes began to take a toll on her. When she looked into the mirror, the hollow shell of the person she used to be stared back at her. No longer content to just get by, she asked him if he felt the same. He did not answer, which told her everything she needed to know.


She left that night and vowed that she would never look back. It was too difficult, too painful. She knew she must move forward, but didn't know where to go, so she just started driving. At the moment, it was enough just to be away. But she knew the peace that gave her would dwindle, so she drove on looking for a new place to start.


She thought about what she wanted for the future – stability, love, honesty and the ability to not lose herself so deeply in the eyes of another - to be able to maintain herself as an individual and to keep hold of the kind of person she struggled to be. As she thought about what form this new life would take, she drifted off into sleep.


She was awakened by a tapping on the window. Her eyes fluttered open, to see him standing there, his hands cupping his eyes, peering inside her car. Questions raced through her mind. How long had he been there? Had he been watching her? Had he been following her? Or did he just happen upon her there?


"Are you OK in there?" He called through the window. She gave a cursory wave to indicate she was fine. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, not sure if he was really there. She looked again, still there.


She tentatively rolled down the window, just enough so that she could hear him. "What is it?" she said, half expecting him to beg her to come back.


"You left before I could tell you I love you" he said. And then he was gone.


And she cried.


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And just because it touched me this morning, the lyrics for those of you who don't want or can't watch it.



"Anyway" by Martina McBride



You can spend your whole life building something from nothing
One storm can come and blow it all away
Build it anyway


You can chase a dream that seems so out of reach
and you know it might not ever come your way
Dream it anyway

God is great, but sometimes life ain't good
And when I pray it doesn't always turn out like I think it should
But I do it anyway, I do it anyway

This world's gone crazy and it's hard to believe
that tomorrow will be better than today
Believe it anyway

You can love someone with all your heart, for all the right reasons,
and in a moment they can choose to walk away
Love 'em anyway

You can pour your soul out singing a song you believe in
that tomorrow they'll forget you ever sang
Sing it anyway

I build, I dream, I believe, I love, I sing it anyway. I hope you do too.

Psychos Dating tips

I'm going to take a moment to share some of the lessons I learned when I was single. These are lessons I would like every woman to learn without having to go through the pain of experiencing them first hand. Before you ask, yes these things all truly did happen.

Psycho's Dating Tips
How to know early on that he is not Mr. Right

1. When you stop at the McDonald's drive-thru on your way to a concert, he orders a Big Mac meal and orders for you – a Chicken McNugget Happy Meal. Then, when he gets to the window to pay, he looks at you and says, "I'm a little short. Do you have $5?

2. When he's in his mid to late 20's and invites you over to his house and says he'll have to sneak you in because his mom doesn't allow girls inside after dark.

3. When you're out doing holiday shopping together and he tries to hide in Claire's because "Well, she's sort of my girlfriend."

4. When you run in to an old friend, who happens to be a guy and he greets your friend by saying "Oh! Are you fucking my girlfriend?"

5. 3 of your girlfriends warn you that if he tries to take you to Pieces of Eight on the waterfront, that he'll probably get in your pants.

6. He asks you for $700 to get him out of trouble and impresses upon you that if he doesn't come up with it, he's going back to jail and it will be your fault.

7. These words ever leave his mouth: "You know, you'd be really pretty if…"

8. While talking one night, he tells you bout his 2 children who are the same age – and they have different mothers.

9. He tells you he can't go into a certain store because a girl works there and if she happens to be working that night, he'll be in violation of the restraining order.

10. He says "I wouldn't let you out of the house dressed like that." (**Note the word "let" – there's the problem).

11. He says "I'm afraid if you go to college, you'll start using big words and I won't understand what you're saying."


So tell me something a man (or a woman if that's the case) has said to you early on in the relationship that either made you end it or was just a horrible foreshadowing of things to come. Look at it as your way to help all single people avoid the pitfalls of dating a loser.

Gyno what?

I'm a texture girl when deciding what it is that I'm going to put in my mouth. Slimy is bad when it comes to meat. Gritty is always bad. Raw tomatoes really freak me out. Dark meat chicken and ribs - slimy, gross. Beef anything less than medium-well is not for me. Nor is anything fatty

Because of this, I could never have a fantasy about eating another person. You'll recall, I've mentioned vorarephilia (eating an entire human being). Well, in my quest for knowledge of all things sexual, I have discovered an off shoot of vorarephilia: Gynophagia. This literally means "woman eating." And I'm not talking about oral sex, because that's just good clean fun and should be done as often as possible. I'll take the receiving end, please! No, with gynophagia, we're talking about prepping, cooking and devouring a woman.

The terms "spit muffins" or "long pigs" are used for women who are suitable for being prepped and cooked. So ladies, next time you're in bar and that drunken freak keeps referring to you as a "real spit muffin", you'll want to alert security.

Now, in my investigation into this fetish, I came across a website. I warn you, this is an incredibly adult oriented site. There are pictures and explicit directions on how to prep and cook your long pig. I found it mostly amusing. You may not. Here it is: Muki's Kitchen(Warning: Extreme Adult Content!!!) And before you think "shame on you for promoting women as sexual objects", save it. We're ALL sexual objects - men & women. Unless you don't like sex. In which case I say: seek therapy.

I think it's important to know that this is mainly a fantasy fetish. Nothing really happens to the woman in the fantasy, they lube her up with butter and tie her legs up like a turkey. Stuffed & trussed, roasted and served. THAT is what this is all about!

I was wondering how much I'd be into the fantasy part of this. Being tied up and having oil rubbed all over my body certainly doesn't sound that bad. Stuffing might even be ok, depending on which orifice is being stuffed and what's going in it. I mean, I don't want cornbread stuffing up the ole snatch, if you know what I'm saying. That would just be a nightmare to clean out. And what if you missed some? Explain THAT to your gynecologist. As he's doing your pap and he says "you appear to have a piece of moldy cubed bread up here…" What would you do? Start giggling and blame it on your reenactment of the first Thanksgiving? He'd get it out, finish the exam, slap you on the ass and say "thanks long pig – see you in a year. Unless you'd like me to have you over for a dinner party."

How far would YOU be willing to go to satisfy your lover is this was their fetish?

Ladies: would you let him tie you up and slather you with butter, herbs and spices?

Men: would you do this to your woman if she wanted you to?

Upon successful completion of 36 years

Tomorrow is my birthday. If you think about it, validate my existence by leaving me a naughty birthday comment. Set your alarms for tomorrow so you can post your comment at the EXACT moment of my birth: 4:23 AM CST. Having said that – I have a HUGE day planned tomorrow, and will most likely not be playing on here. Try not to miss me. Now that I've got that shameless plea for your well wishes out of the way, let's move on.

I am polishing the tiara as we speak for my big night out tomorrow, and yes, I'm REALLY wearing a tiara. It was given to me last year by a friend and holds wonderful memories. It's been passed around the office, depending on who got to be Princess for the day and I reclaimed it this morning. It should be fun and anyone who would like to come is most certainly invited. The more the merrier. Can I get a "Woot!"?

And now, for my last blog as a 35-year old psycho princess (who forgot to put on panties this morning), I would like to share some of the silliness that has been my life this past year. Yes, it's all over the place, but my mind is mush. Besides, no one said you had to read it.

Just this morning, I read on Yahoo! that "World powers await IKEA report on Iran". Fantastic! I'm thrilled that someone is interested in making Iran much more comfortable and stylish. I can't wait to hear what IKEA has to say about it. (Yes, I know what it REALLY says, but do you?)

There's a song by a band called abc – OK smart asses, I'm sure they sing more than one song, but I'm only talking about one. It was sometime this past year that I learned that they were singing "When Smokey sings". I always thought they were singing "When smoke gets in." It never made a lot of sense to me, but then most things seldom do.

Whenever I type a word that ends in a t followed by the word "it", i.e., "about it" I always misplace the space. It usually winds up being "abou tit". When I type the last name Pushkin, I either type push king or pushpin. I can't help it – that's just how my brain works.

My son misunderstood something his child care provider said to him. She told him to stop being so nice to the little girl that hit him when she's on time out (he wants to hug her because she's crying about being in time out). She told him "You're not her boy toy!" From that moment on, he likes to look at you and say "I'm a boy toy!" This is especially cute when he's wearing the "Ladie's Man" shirt in the picture in my pics section. It's not right for me to laugh, but I do every time. He so obviously gets his sense of understanding from me. Poor thing!

I asked Jerry to tell his mom that for my birthday I would like a facial. He refused, saying HE'LL give me a facial AND a pearl necklace if that's what I really wanted. He giggles every time I mention facial.

It took me 36 years to like my boobs. They might be small, but they're loveable as they are. I'm just glad that I don't have these:

I think that this might be my most favorite tattoo EVER:

In the end, most of my questions this year have been answered except for one. What the hell is going on here?

Why Maytag needs Ron Jeremy

First and foremost – I had so much fun yesterday with the ass blog! So, thanks to everyone who sent in their ass, everyone who looked at the asses and everyone who joined in conversation about the asses. I have no plans to do a cleavage blog, as has been requested. I may change my mind in April if I can think of something unique to do with it, but I think it's been done to death.

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for – OK, not really. But I did want to talk about something more serious than asses. Come closer – I can't say this very loud because I don't want them to overhear what I'm about to tell you. I know, I know, you're wondering which "them" I'm referring to.

Is it my co-workers? No – they are oblivious saps who have nothing better to do with their time than worry about who burnt the popcorn in the break room. I only WISH my life were that mundane! Is it the people who think that everything is about them – that everything I say is somehow a veiled reference to their failure as a mature human being? Nope, not them, although they won't believe it.

I'm talking about the people who take blogging far too seriously. And they know who they are. And why am I on the hush-hush? On the down-low? Because I don't want to stir up trouble. And this blog is not going to be serious. Not one bit. Well, except for the opening paragraph, but that's it.

So, Whirlpool buys Maytag and they no longer want the repairman to be the old, trustworthy middle-aged gentlemen we're accustomed to seeing. They want energetic! They want young at heart and outgoing! They want Ron Jeremy! But seriously now, they don't want a woman. Some tool said: "If you think of other advertising icons out there ... where is Ben Crocker? Where is Juanita Valdez? Where's the Pillsbury doughgirl?" THAT was their rationale for not using a woman. Personally, I'm willing to bet Ben Crocker can cook like a MoFo. And Mr. Lee (Sara's hubby) is GREAT at doing laundry - (How do you get shirts so clean Mr. Lee? Ancient Chinese secret, huh??). I mean making desserts.

I say fuck you Maytag! We all know a woman could kick the shit out of the Maytag Repairman any day. Why? Because she read the manual, that's why! The whole reason that the Maytag Repairman isn't very busy has NOTHING to do with the quality of the products they are putting out. It has to do with the fact that very few men actually touch the suckers, unless they absolutely have to. We all know that men break stuff because they don't read the manuals. They are genetically predisposed to not follow directions of any type. Well, except the gay ones because they follow directions just as well as, if not better than, a woman. But I digress.

Men will do a load of laundry and not separate the lights from the darks. They just throw it all in the same load. Now, I know that many of you are probably thinking that I am a laundry racist. I keep my whites separate from the colors at all costs. Even if it means doing a load of laundry with just 2 shirts. Therefore, I admit to it. I keep my laundry segregated. There is to be no intermingling of the different races of laundry – not in my washing machine anyway! Incidentally, I also only eat chicken that is white meat. I don't like the dark meat. I think it tastes too greasy. And bread? White please! Honey wheat is ok, but I don't care for the darker breads: pumpernickel and rye (especially dark or Jewish rye) just don't do it for me. I'd eat them if I HAD to, but it would be a last resort. These predispositions probably preclude me from ever running for public office. I'm good with that, but now I'm WAY off topic. Back to Maytag.

They are hosting open casting calls. I say women all over the country show up and start chanting things like "Women's Lib" and burning bras. In fact, we should burn ALL of our clothes because without clothes, who needs washing machines? And then, in true PEST fashion (remember the PEST movement?), we can all get out our vibrators and have a masturbation-in to protest. That'll teach 'em!

And there you have it - thanks, discrimination and masturbation all in one blog. Who could ask for anything more?

The Great Ass Blog

I have one rule and one rule only for this blog. All negative comments should be promptly shoved up your own ass. In fact, there shouldn't be a negative comment because all of these asses have one thing in common - they belong to a person I'm fond of in one way or another and they are all HOT!. All of these people had fun in mind when they sent me these pictures. If you didn't contribute, you most certainly shouldn't have a thing to say except thanks or dish out the compliments. These folks had the fortitude to do something most of you didn't - which is kind of silly, seeing as if everyone who has ever walked behind you has already seen your ass. I'm just saying.

Now onward!

My reason behind the ass blog? I believe that we should all learn to love what we've got. It was an interesting mix of comments when people sent me their photos and it showed that we aren't all accepting of what we've got going on.

Some things people said:

"I took a lot of pictures of my ass and I have to say it doesn't look like I thought it looked. It's a weird thing to have that view of your very own back-side. You've opened my eyes to the truth of my ass. I'm not quite sure how I feel about the truth, but whatever."

"Sent! yikes... "

"I don't know if this will work.. and I cannot believe I am doing it..lol."

"You ain't getting a pic of my ass. It's tragic."

There were people who made excuses for their ass, and they really don't need to because they are fine asses. Such as "I've had kids" or "I have no ass".

Another observation: the guys were less likely to give it up, but when they did, they went to the extreme: either hanging all out or fully clothed. The chicks rule because they sent the pictures in without my having to poke and prod them. Many of the women on the other hand dropped the pants, hiked up the shirts and showed a little skin - a couple showed a lot of skin, and for that, we all thank you. No woman bared all, which really surprised me.

Even those with what I would consider near-perfect ass specimens were a bit hesitant to show it off. I get that. I certainly didn't want mine hanging out. I had Jerry take TONS of pictures and I poured over them, examining everything about each one before realizing that my ass needs alot of work. In the end, I chose my picture, not because it looked the best, but because it made me smile. Unlike Captain Kirk. I don't think he much cared for my ass. Either that, or he's in awe of it.

Much like fine art, everyone appreciates different things in an ass. Shape & size varies and your ass looks different depending on what you're wearing and how you're standing. And just as there is a huge variety in shape & size, there's a huge variety in what people like. The perfect ass for you may not be the perfect ass for me. Having said that, these asses are ALL perfect. Why? Because they are part of someone who may be nervous about sharing their ass with everyone but had the courage to do so anyhow. My thanks to the people who contributed. I love each of you even more for sharing with me (and all of us here) what everyone walking behind you sees. You're all beautiful with your curves and shapes and sizes. And now, I present to you, some of the finest asses MySpace has to offer:

Anyone who wants to claim their own ass in the pictures may do so. I'm not outing you. It's your ass - do what you want with it!

Compliments are welcome. Anyone who wants to claim their own ass in the pictures may do so. I'm not outing you. It's your ass - do what you want with it! Many thanks to: Chrissie, Jen, Sara, Kristin, Michael, Brad, Juddy, Keith, Trish, Sheryl, Siranda, Meagan, Erin, Joker, Shannon and Tina. I think that's everyone. If I missed you, let me know so I can give you credit. ANYONE who wanted their butt included but did not get me a photo - here's the perfect chance to show it off - post it in a comment.

Blame everyone else - you're innocent!

Public service announcement: There is still time to get your ass pictures in. I'm looking at doing the ass blog early next week! I will take ANY picture of your ass - clothed, naked, whatever. I'm thinking of doing a little "matching" quiz - you know, match the ass to the face? And no, no one will be criticizing any of the asses, so don't be shy! Even yours truly is going to post a picture of her ass. In all it's glory. But that's another story.

I was thinking about when I was a kid in school and didn't do my homework. I was trying to figure out what kind of excuses I used when I was explaining why it wasn't done. I couldn't come up with anything, so I called my mom. She confirmed my deepest darkest thoughts - I ALWAYS DID MY HOMEWORK. Crap. I was a goody-two-shoes. Guilty as charged. I still pretty much am.

But that line of thought got me thinking about how the old "the dog ate my homework" line really gave dogs a bad reputation. True, there are some dogs who WOULD eat your homework, but how many really did?

We further subject dogs to a whole host of finger pointing that they don't always deserve. Who among us hasn't blamed a particular noisy (or smelly) fart on a nearby dog? Man pees on the toilet seat? Dog must have been drinking out of it. Drunk person pukes on the floor? The dog did it.

Instead of blaming everything on our four legged friends who cannot defend themselves, why don't we find more creative excuses? Instead of innocent dogs, let's use something or someone who can defend themselves, which will also require that we all work on our debating skills, because you KNOW how hard it's going to be to convince everyone it really wasn't you! And maybe if you fear confrontation, it will just encourage you to take the blame yourself. Here, some examples of excuses one might use when passing the buck:

The lesbian ate my homework
The Jewish guy farted
The Mexican girl peed on the toilet seat
The black guy spewed all over the carpet

Please note that as a white, heterosexual woman I do not use white, heterosexual women as the scapegoat. That would just be wrong. You should NEVER blame those who fit the same profile as yourself (unless they are complete trailer-trash, redneck women). Perhaps they do that in Germany or England, but that's not the American way!

You should also take care to not blame someone who was never even present when the event occured.

Now, it's true that some people might get offended by these things, but you cannot worry about that. If you spread the blame around to include all races, creeds, and sexual orientations, it's not prejudice. It's just making yourself look better by blaming others.

And if you don't like this blog, then you should know it was written by some crazy Latino who sold it to me for $50.

Why I love this

First – the ass blog has been delayed – again. Sorry. Oh well, get over it. I have.

I've been asked to participate in something that will further demonstrate that I'm easily swayed and tend to "go with the crowd", despite what my psych profile says about me. Because I am trying to convince my parole officer that I truly do fit in with the general public, I'm going to do my blog tag like a good little citizen.

GARY tagged me, like a deer that he's hunted down. I now have to write something of a semi-serious nature. I believe the topic is something like 10 reasons I love writing, words, poetry, prose, songs, singing, dancing, food, drinking, drugs, and/or sex. But because that seems like such a broad topic, I took it upon myself to narrow it "Why I love writing, words & poetry." I will no doubt link songs, singing, food, drinking, drugs and/or sex into the mix (not so much dancing – as previously established, I don't do dancing.). And now, without further adieu, I'M IT!

1. Words are my pictures. When I write something, I tend to over do it. Directions for me are not "go about 3 miles and then turn left on Charter Rd.". For me, directions are "Go about 3 miles. You'll pass a Walgreens and then it will get kind of rural looking. You'll see a church on the left, but it looks more like a machine shed – all aluminum you know!. On the right, you'll see a Texaco. Now, you're three roads away from Charter. When you get to Charter Rd., you'll know because there is a big yellow barn on the right hand corner…" You get the picture? Exactly! You get the picture! You see it in your mind, and that's what I love about words. They can simply get someone where they need to go OR they can paint a picture of where one is headed, so you know what to expect when you get there.

2. Writing is the easiest way for me to let my thoughts out and analyze them. What I think about isn't all hearts and flowers. The things I write about, I really do think about. If someone takes that and finds it funny, that's great. If they find it's stupid, that's great too. My point? I hope that what I write someone finds something to take from it. It also helps me ground myself and focus on the more important thoughts.

3. Words have power. They can hurt, heal, impress, depress, console, cheer, scare, secure, anger, please, excite, invite, you name it. If you can feel it, words can create it. And not everyone will see every word in the same way. And your reaction to a word will change depending on who says it or writes it. Here's an example: If Gary writes a blog entitled "Fluids" you probably think it's about wine of beer. If Swilly writes it, you KNOW it's beer. If I write it, you assume is sperm or girlie-juice. What power that gives to the words!

4. When I'm angry or disappointed, words can be typed into my computer. They can then be deleted before they hurt anyone. And I feel better for letting them out and can deal with what has angered or disappointed me without flying off of the handle.

5. Words, writing, and more importantly reading written words of others have accounted for hours upon hours of my enjoyment. Whether I'm transported to the world of Shannara with Terry Brooks, laughing at how my life seems to parallel Laurie Notaro, or investigating the horrible crimes perpetrated by the likes of Gacy, Berkowitz, Dahmer, Bundy, (the list goes on). When I read, for a few hours I am not a wife or a mother, working in a 7:30 – 4:00 job. I do not have MS and I am invincible. Whether I'm running through the streets with a boy named Hawk or being a forensic detective, I'm living a life that I do not normally lead thanks to talented writers who share their vision with the masses.

6. Poets hold a special place in my heart. None more so than my mother. While not a poet by traditional standards, she wrote me a poem when I was about 8 years old. She made me a valentine out of construction paper and paper lace. She wrote on it "Do you know how much I love you? Do you know how much I care? Do you know you'll be my baby – whether skies are dark or fair?" And with that, she put a passion in my heart for poetry. While I don't profess to know poets by name or by their works, when I hear a poem I particularly care for, I learn it, memorize it and hold it close to me. Much like that poem my mom wrote me when I was a kid.

7. Music! Ah yes, you can't have a song that I will FULLY enjoy without words. Yes, there are some very moving, sweeping masterpieces that have no words, but those that speak most to my soul have words that seem to sum up my life at times – I've blogged about those in the past if you care to read it. I've often said that if I can't understand the words to a song I probably won't like it. That's because it has to mean something to me and I have to identify with it in order for it to stick in my head, and so many of them do!

8. Sex & words – now there are two things that go together. Harder, faster, more, right there, yes, yes, yes…OH GOD YES! Enough said! No wonder I like words!

9. Writing allows me to tell people things that I cannot say directly to them. It helps me tell a friend when I think a mistake is being made, or when I'm hurt and feeling beyond repair. It allows me to deliver harsh criticism if it is necessary. It allows me to tell people things that if I tried to vocalize them, would leave my lips as inaudible whimpers mingled with sobbing and wailing. No one needs that! I'm an extremely emotional person (I'm a Pisces, what do you expect?) and often times, writing it is the only way for me to express it. Plus, it's harder to interrupt a paragraph to defend yourself, isn't it?

10. Friendship. Yes, writing is responsible for many of my friendships. It's what drew me to may of you in my early days of MySpace. It started with Meagan, and jumped to Gary as I read his insightful comments on Meagan's blogs. From Gary to Jen & Siranda & Swilly & Laura & the list goes on and on. It's also why a few of you started communicating with me, isn't it? You liked what you read, or it made you laugh and think. Either way, I don't really care because it brought us all together. And I adore each and every one of you who offer me comments, support and conversation. I wish I knew more of you. Such a small handful of my subscribed list ever comments, I wish more people did. Because for me, that's what makes it worth it – the connections made here. The friendly banter, the sexual jokes, the silliness and the overall sense of all of us in one place, no matter whose blog it's on. Because we all enjoy the same thing – reading and writing words.

Thanks Gary for the tag. I'm not going to tag anyone. I will say, if anyone wants to do this, please do it. I didn't realize some things until I started writing it. And I didn't want to stop writing. It felt good to think about it. And if you do this, will you let me know? I'd sure love to read what you love about it all.

Lucky DAY!

This morning, as I stopped at the gas station for a cup of Southern Roasters and some cash to pay the babysitter, Josh was in his usual form - pushing buttons on the lottery machine. Today, however, was different. He started pushing the buttons and out popped lottery tickets! $15 worth to be exact. The clerk said someone left must have left credit on the machine, so I should keep them and scratch them. So I did. I won only $3, but I didn't have to spend any money to get that, so it's like a free $3. It's going to be a good day.

When I get to work, the painting contractors are here, waiting to get into the work area. They've been here for 2 hours, just sitting, waiting for their crew chief. They speak Spanish. Every time a woman walks by, they start whispering, in Spanish. They think no one knows what they are saying. HA! I listened intently when I walked by. I heard the word "bonita", stopped, looked at them and said "gracias!" and continued on. They haven't whispered when I've walked past since. I want to know how to say "little dick" in spanish so I can mumble it when I walk past. Anyone know?

What was that?

I was going to write a blog about the man who interrupted me and my friend in the midst of our conversation to ask us if we knew where we were headed if we died right now, but I decided to let that go. Let me just state, for the record, that after telling him I would probably be headed for the morgue if I died right now and directing him to the information desk to get a visitor's pass, I let security know where about he was and what he was up to. He told me he wasn't a patient here, nor was he visiting a patient here. Let this be a lesson to anyone thinking about recruiting where people work: you shouldn't be all up in a person's place of business spreading anything – unless it's vicious rumors about my co-workers. Then, I'm all ears. Otherwise, scram! Moving on…



When I was in school, we didn't have sex education. I learned about the birds and the bees from my sister, trashy Harlequin Romance novels and Penthouse Forum letters. Yes, even as a kid, I stole my step-father's Penthouse magazines – only I truly DID get them solely for the letters and articles.



If I had a sex ed class, I can only imagine the questions that I would have asked. Because I was a big reader of anything even remotely naughty, I knew the basics and some of the more advanced things already. I would have asked the more important questions. The ones I had to learn by trial and error.



Questions such as "What does cum taste like?" or "When giving a blow job, how can I tell that he's about to shoot his load in my mouth so it doesn't surprise me and make me gag?" First, I'm sure I would have been corrected by the teacher - "SEMEN tastes like..." and "When performing FELLATIO, you can tell he is going to EJACULATE..." Ah yes, these things would have been good to know before I ever gave it a shot. But no! I wasn't given the opportunity to learn about these things in school. Instead, I was forced to learn about the Pythagorean Theorem, which incidentally I don't use very often, if ever. So, which of those would have been better to know?



And why, exactly, do I need to know what a prime number is? Wouldn't it have been more useful to me, as a woman, to know whether or not anal sex is for me?



A friend of mine was telling me about what her daughter told her she learned in sex ed. She claims they learned about queefs. GREAT! It's good to know that they're teaching our kids about pussy farts. I hope they're telling them that they are normal and natural, and while they may seem embarrassing at the time, they're really quite funny and make great openings to any story you're telling about a romantic evening. How do you think THAT conversation happened in class?



Teacher: "Next, we're going to discuss some of the terrible things that can happen to you if you have sex before you're married. Who has ideas?"



Child 1: "Pregnancy"

Child 2: "Aids"

Child 3: "A queef"



Teacher: "All very good examples of terrible things that can happen if you have premarital sex. No one wants to be the girl who queefed when Johnny stuck his penis in her vagina. You'll be tagged as 'Queen Queef' for the rest of your high-school years, possibly into college. How do you want to be remembered in the yearbook your senior year? Voted 'Most likely to succeed' or 'Most likely to queef'? Think about it!"

And yes, it was a public school. No child left behind apparently covers pussy farts. Isn't that good to know? Because we wouldn't like our kids to come out of school not knowing what a queef is. I know I don't want to have to explain it to my child. Thank goodness they're covering this - it's that much less that we'll have to explain to the boys when they get old enough. Lucky for me, they are boys, and this will all be Dad's job to explain it all to them in terms they can understand - like "cum", and "blow job". But not "queef". They'll learn that in school.

Matchmaking 101

Today, instead of being all hearts and flowery like half of the people in the world, I want to help those who truly need help. In the spirit of Valentines Day, I have scoured the internet in search of people looking for love. I have found a few individuals in need of some help. I thought it would be nice if we could make a MySpace profile or a personal ad for them. You don't have to know them. Just LOOK at them! One photo speaks VOLUMES for these people, but we need to back it up with words. So, give it your best shot - write them a tagline!

And remember - even if you're single today, it could be worse. I give you proof of that here:

BACHELOR ..1

BACHELOR ..2

BACHELOR ..3

BACHELORETTE ..4

BACHELORETTE ..5

BACHELOR Uh, BACHELORETTE - UMMM- ERRRR....PERSON ..6

Help out these pour souls, would you? Write them a tag line, something snappy. You wrote your own, didn't you? And look at how many friends YOU have.

What I'd tell Barbara Walters

I thought this would be kind of fun, so I'm playing the interview game. I've agreed to let CHRISSIE "interview" me. She gets 5 questions and I have to answer them. When I'm done, anyone who wants an easy blog can ask me to interview them. I'll send you the questions, you blog the answers.

THE GUIDELINES:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Ready? Here's my interview:

1. I think of you as a very free-spirited and openly sexual woman. Was there ever a time you were not like you are now?

Oh dear God, yes! Warning to Trish: be forewarned I'm talking about Jerry and sex here – you've been notified! Nearly my whole life, until I met Jerry. I was just a sad little girl who had never used a vibrator and didn't enjoy sex or anything about it. It never occurred to me that it could be fun and exciting. Vibrators were naughty and best left to tramps. Sure, I thought it was my "duty" to have sex with whomever I was living with at the time but it wasn't enjoyable. I couldn't figure out what the fuss was all about. Orgasms were something I obviously didn't need. Perhaps that was because they were something I didn't have. I could have cared less if I got laid.

And then there was Jerry. Sex took on a whole new meaning and suddenly I cared if I didn't have it. And the toys – oh Lord the toys! I think I've written about my first – the Eager Beaver. Since then, Jerry buys all my toys for me. I like it that way. I trust him. It's fantastic to have that! And orgasms too. Thanks Jerry!!

2. What is the one thing you regret in this life?

To pick one thing is so difficult here because there are a couple of things I would definitely do differently. I don't like the word regret because the majority of the things I've done, I've done with free will and have learned something invaluable from each of those experiences and to not have had them would make me a different person. I would say that the biggest regret I have is the amount of time I wasted on certain relationships that were going nowhere, one of which was very difficult and painful. Had I gotten out sooner, I would have still learned the lessons that it was meant to teach me, but it may have saved those around me a bit of heartache as well.

3. If you were given the chance to run for public office, would you?

Oh hell no! Why on earth anyone would want to run for public office is beyond me. You suddenly have your life and every decision you've ever made scrutinized by everyone. And even if you get elected, you can't do everything you want to do the way you want to do it, even if you can see how it would better the community, state or nation (depending on what level office you're talking about.) Shoot, I don't even want to be block captain in my neighborhood.

4. Exactly how stunning ARE your labia?

If you've ever seen any of the 7 wonders of the world, you know the feeling when you stand in front of them and realize what it is you're looking at? That's what it's like to gaze upon the wonders that are my labia. Beautiful, pink, symmetrical, just breathtaking, I assure you.

5. What is your position right this moment? Are you sitting? Are you making faces at your monitor?

Right this moment, I have a Kleenex shoved up my nose to keep it from running. It is 3:30 in the morning and I can't sleep because when I lay down the snot runs down the back of my throat, making me want to swallow, but I can't because it hurts. SO, I am in my purple cotton jammies, lounging on my red L-shaped couch. My back is propped against the arm of the couch. My right leg extended across the back of couch cushion. My left leg is bent with my ankle resting on my right knee. I have the MacBook propped up against said left knee, and I am typing. I AM making faces at the monitor, only because I am having trouble seeing. And because the left shift key is pissing me off.

Eat YOUR heart out - not mine

I had a great idea for a really interesting and fun photo blog.I took all of the pictures. I left the camera at home this morning so it will have to wait. Sorry Katie. I know, I teased you and for that, perhaps I deserve a spanking.

Instead of fun and frolicking in my blog, I will be forced to write on the dreaded topic of Valentine's Day. The Big VD.

First, let me say I don't celebrate this "holiday". If I need a date on a calendar to remind me that I love someone, I probably shouldn't be fucking him. Plus, it is too close to my birthday and if I were to get a decent gift for Valentine's Day, then my birthday gift would certainly suffer. Not acceptable!

Allow me to say that flowers for Valentine's Day suck for a great number of reasons. The biggest being that flowers, much like your love for her if that's all you give her, will die rather quickly. Of course that's just my not-so-humble opinion. If you want to get her a gift that truly says you love her, buy her a vibrator. Because it says "I want you to be sexually satisfied, even when I can't be there for you." It says "I'm man enough to admit that my penis may not be enough for you and you may, occasionally, need a little something extra." It says "Stick this in your snatch and think of me." And THAT is the epitome of love.

And that, my friends, is all I really have to say about Valentine's Day. I do, however, have more to say on fetishes.

I'm not talking about "women in high heels and fish nets turn me on." I'm not even talking about feet or toes. Those are boring and unoriginal. I'm talking about some serious, hard-core fetishes.

I had a whole blog written on emetophilia and vorarephilia, but thought that it was a little too hard core. Let me just say that emetophilia is having a hard on for puking or watching someone spew. Vorarephilia is wanting to consume another person or creature, wanting to contain another person or creature entirely inside one's body, or the desire to be on the receiving end of either of those actions. It really brings new meaning to someone telling you that "you're so cute! I could just eat you up!" Yes, I'm telling you that many old people are obviously vorarephiles.

However, in my research, I found out about the sneeze fetish. What is it about sneezing? Well, it's about lack of control. As you know, you cannot really control a sneeze, it just happens. It also is parallel to an orgasm. There's a build-up, a release, often involving bodily fluid and a feeling of relief that the sneeze brings. So, next time you're in public and you have to sneeze - see who shifts nervously. And if you're a multiple sneezer, LOOK OUT! You may just be molested because of your allergies. All I'm saying is sneeze at your own risk.

While looking into this fetish, I found that there are several specific scenarios that people with a sneeze fetish may enjoy, my favorite being sneezing while hiding. Anyone who has ever played hide and seek knows how badly is sucks to have the perfect hiding spot, only to be plagued with a sneeze or two, giving away where you are. That sucks. And if you're playing with a male sneezeophile (I made that word up), he may just start jacking off because of it. Game over! Who wins that one?

I have also discovered that there is such a thing as a gas mask fetish. The eye covers may be blacked out to act as a blindfold, or there may be a blindfold under the mask, to increase the sense of total enclosure. Sometimes gas masks are also modified to include a gag. And if you don't think gas masks can be sexy, thing back to the movie TOMMY and the half naked women in gas masks.

I just had a thought – what if you're an emetophile and a gasmaskophile (made up word again)? Spontaneous orgasm if someone barfed while wearing a gas mask? I think so!

And if you think that's gross, bite me. Unless you're a vorarephile. I'd hate to get you started.

You can dance if you want to

As we were sitting on the couch this morning, my son wanted me to go in the kitchen with him. He looked at me with the most adorable face and said "OK Mommy. Let's get down." I said OK and immediately stood up and started dancing while singing "Get Down Tonight" a la KC and the Sunshine Band. He looked at me like I was a nut job and demanded that I "STOP THAT!" I tried to tell him that I was just getting down and he said "Just don't do that!"

It was at that moment that I wondered what I must look like when I dance. I know that I can't dance. I've been told that on numerous occasions, even by people who also can't dance. That is how you know it's bad.

I wonder if I look like Elaine in that marvelous Seinfeld episode. See proof - my wedding. The similarities are uncanny, don't you think?







Or perhaps I look like I'm having an epileptic seizure. Or do I do the Carlton dance from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air? Either way, its not good.

I think the reason for my bad dancing skills stem from college when "going out dancing" was code for going to a party, getting drunk and then following irritating people to clubs, making them think we wanted to kick their asses. We never did anything to any of them, but they were intimidated and we were too drunk to feel badly. In retrospect, do I feel badly? Hell no! It was college and I was stupid drunk. That's what you're supposed to do.

Incidentally, I also learned in college not to bitch slap the captain of the Rugby team while drunk at a bar, even if he did call you a cunt – at least not until your friends are 100% ready for what will happen next. While you might not mind the ensuing battle, your male friends who are getting the shit kicked out of them do mind.

The first time I ever danced I was probably 12. We lived on a lake and once a month, all the kids would get together for a dance. We all had to bring our records (we didn't have cassettes or anything). The room would fill with REO Speedwagon's "Take it on the Run". Boys and girls would go stand in the middle of the floor, paired up. The boys would put their hands on the girls waist and the girls put their hands on the boys' shoulders. Everyone assumed the stiff arm position and rocked side to side, never once bending their knees, for the duration of the song. Unless you were going together, then you still did the waist-shoulder dance, only you were squished together, her head on his shoulder.

In my efforts to try and learn how to dance, I got some advice from people and, not surprisingly, it hasn't helped me one bit. Perhaps the most worthless piece of dance advice ever given me was "make love to the music." So, drawing on all of the experience I had at the time, I made my way to the dance floor, put my hands on my boobs and just stood there, not moving, with my eyes closed. When the song was over, I cried. And then made an appointment with my therapist.

If I took that advice now, I'm certain I would be asked to leave immediately and possibly even receive a police escort where I would be booked for lewd behavior, indecent exposure and quite possibly some anti-pornography laws.

SO, if you've got a suggestion for a girl (who has absolutely no grace) on how to dance, I'm willing to hear it. And perhaps, I'll get Jerry to video tape me trying out your moves. I'll try anything once.

Start of a love story - or maybe the middle

Just screwing around with some writing. That's all...


"I didn't know you cared so much" she declared, the sarcasm dripping off of every word. Her blond hair fell in long layers, framing her classically beautiful face. Her lips held traces of the ruby red lipstick applied much earlier in the day. She rolled her eyes when she spoke to him, conveying nothing but contempt for him.

"You know Dana," he said, the frustration evident in his voice, "you make it impossible to care. Everything you do, everything you say, everything you experience is so laden with drama that I lose track of what is real and what is manufactured. When is the last time you actually felt something real?"

She stared at him hard. If a look could reach into a man's soul and tear it in half, the look she gave him certainly would have. She took a step closer to him, intending to slap him in the face. No man talks to her like that, and if they do, they're going to find out what Dana Stander was made of!

As she swung her hand forward, he grabbed her by the wrist. His grip was strong and purposeful. He wanted her to know that he was not the average joe who was going to allow her to treat him like dirt and get away with it. He forced her hand down behind her back and quickly grabbed the other before she could even think of raising it to him.

He pulled her close to him. She could feel his hot breath on the side of her cheek. She wondered if he would kiss her and what it would be like if he did. Would she enjoy it? Would she FEEL it? Could he feel the rise and fall of her chest as she took shallow rapid breaths in anticipation of the kiss that she was expecting? Could he tell how fast her heart was beating? Did he realize this was excitement in her and not fear?

As he leaned in closer, she felt his breath burn a path across her cheek, towards her neck. And then it happened. It was so swift and quick and she didn't even have time to react. Just as quickly as it happened, he was gone.

For the first time in ages, she felt something. Was it fear? As she wondered this, other thoughts crept into her mind before the panic set in.

He was powerful, there was not doubt about that. He had brought her to her knees in an instant and then left her there, alone and helpless, wondering if there was any hope for her. Would they be able to reattach her ear if she made it to the hospital in time?

These are my boobs. There are many like them, but these ones are mine!

Today is a crappy day. I can't swallow. That's all I'm going to say about that. Take it for what it's worth.

Anna kicked the bucket. So, she's dead and all. Big whoop. It's not like my life will change in any way, shape or form. There's one less fake-breasted woman walking around competing with me for the love and attention of the rich, elderly, lonely (did I already say rich?) men.

Maybe now, just once, a small breasted woman could get the guy and battle his step children in court for an inheritance. Isn't that what we all want anyway?

Why is it that the girls with the big tits always are the most popular ones? Don't people realize that those puppies are going to sag and cause back problems some day? And while those ladies are paying their chiropractors and having breast reduction surgery (or tucking them into the waist-band of their polyester pants) mine will still be as perky as they are today and then everyone will think that I have wonder tits. But why does it have to wait until I'm 70?

I used to think I wanted fake boobs. I've made lots of jokes about it, harassed my hubby to no end about buying them for me, and thought how nice it would be just to have them. But then, I thought about the things that irritate me about people with fake boobs and the biggest thing is that they are just that – FAKE. And what does that say about the person who has them? It says that you dislike who you are so much that you had yourself surgically altered. It's the same with women who have plastic surgery to improve their looks. And even fake nails, tanning beds, makeup, hair color : ALL FAKE.

I'm guilty of some of these things – makeup and hair color. However, at the end of the day, I can take the makeup off. The hair color – well that's more lasting, but I don't do it to cover gray, I do it because I crave variety. Not that it makes me any better, but that's what it is.

Why can't we all just like ourselves enough to be just as we are? Why can't others appreciate that in us? The majority of men require only a shower, shave and a haircut. They don't put on makeup every day before leaving the house. Why is it ok for them to be all natural, but women feel the need to put on at LEAST a bit of foundation before heading out?

Who makes us feel that way? The media? Society? The people we're trying to impress? Well, how's this for an impression:

MY BOOBS ARE SMALL, I KNOW. BUT THEY'RE NOT YOURS THEY ARE MY OWN. *

And I think I'll keep 'em around, just the way they are. Because they are unique. And one is smaller than the other. (It's also more sensitive – the smaller ones always are!) But most importantly – they're mine. And I can touch them whenever I want to. And you can't. So there.

So tell me this - What is one feature about you that you would never change, no matter what others may think?

*Sorry Jewel

It's not easy being me

Some mornings, I wake up and as I'm looking in the mirror I think to myself "It's a shame not everyone can be as adorable as me. Life is so unfair." This morning was one of those mornings.

As I was drinking my coffee it dawned on me that in this world, there are two types of people - sheep and shepherds. I think I am a shepherd. And I don't always realize it.

I thought about my past experiences and how many times I've done something, only to have others do it after seeing my example. The worst case was my high school friend and later psycho roommate. Near the end of high school, several people had taken to calling me "Red" on account of the fact that I had red hair. When I went to college, no one called me that, which was fine. After 2 years of living in the dorms, I got an apartment. She'd come up to visit me all of the time. One time, she came up and her blonde hair was – RED. I thought nothing of it, until she started telling people that in high school, her nickname was "Red." Ummm…huh? It creeped me out a little, but I didn't let it get to me. She did a lot of the things I did, made friends with the people I was friends with. She even transferred to where I was going to school and we got an apartment together. And then, it got fucking bizarre.

One day, her younger sister called. When I told her "Red" wasn't home, she asked if she was out with Shawn. "Shawn who?" I asked. "Her boyfriend" she said. "She doesn't have a boyfriend and the only Shawn I know is my friend who has never even met her." And she goes on to tell me a story of how Red says she knows Shawn, and Darren, and the rest of the guys. Funny thing about this story is – apparently, she met these guys in the same, exact way I had met them, right down to the location and time frame. Yes, she told her sister MY story. So, the sister and I talked for awhile and the sister relayed to me all of the things that Red had done with these people. They were all my stories, my experiences. Just for spite, I started making up wild stories and telling them to her, just to see if she'd relay those to her family as her own. She did. It was a HOOT!

One day, I came home from class early. There was a silence in the apartment . And then, a man's voice. "Do you want something to drink? I brought beer." I knew that voice – my then boy-toy & drinking buddy. I was excited because he was surprising me by showing up early. "I'll get the beer" I shouted. "Where are you?" SILENCE "HELLO???" SILENCE. I turned the corner and there in my room, in my bed, was my Boy Toy. And Red. Who started crying instantly. "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" I laughed. I told Boy Toy to get out of my bed. I told Red to clean up, we were going out drinking.

That night, I told her she was not me, she would never be me and she needed to get her shit straight. Then, just for shits and giggles, told her I wasn't mad about BoyToy because for the last few months, I'd actually been fucking the boy she was interested in. Which, by the way, wasn't true. I was just pissed and quite hurt about BoyToy, but wasn't about to let either of them know.

Anyhow, a year passed, I had a new boyfriend, we had an partment, she needed a place to stay, so we let her stay with us. It was a very strained environment because I never trusted her after the BoyToy incident and my boyfriend didn't much care for her.

One day, we had some stupid argument because of something totally retarded. I went to work and then met my boyfriend out for drinks afterwards. We decided we were going to tell her she had to leave – she was too freaky. We got home, and she wasn't there, but there were 25 messages on the answering machine. It was her sister. She was frantic.

Apparently, Red had called and said that *I* was sleeping with her boyfriend – she named BoyToy from a year ago as the one I stole from her. Anyhow, Red apparently didn't want to be alive anymore because – get this – I was trying to steal her life. HA! So, the hunt begins for Red. I found her. In the walk in closet. She took a whole bunch of Tylenol 3's, to end it all. I couldn't wake her up. So, I called 911. They came to get her and I must have looked like the biggest bitch as I was yawning as I answered their questions. I asked the guy if I needed to do anything else or could I just go to bed. He just stared at me. I explained I had to work in the morning. Apparently, he thought I should be more distraught that my roommate went off the deep end. I wasn't worried about it. I slept that night. It was, quite possibly, the best sleep I ever had.

After that incident, Red moved to Vegas with her family. A couple of years later, I heard from her. She heard that I was engaged to my soon-to-be ex and wanted to know who was in the wedding. I told her who I thought of asking. She cried. A LONG, LONG time she cried because I hadn't mentioned her. I changed the subject. She started talking again and then told me she had an abortion. Just like that. No emotion, no nothing. It was like "today I went to the dentist, got my teeth clean, paid a parking ticket, applied for a job, got an abortion, and headed home to get ready to go out for a salad bar." I got off the phone really, really fast.

Last year, I got an email from her on Classmates.com. We exchanged an email or two. She mentioned she wanted to see what I looked like now. I figured she lived in Vegas, I live in Virginia, why not? So, I emailed her a picture. Do you know that I've never heard from her since? Must have scared her away with all of my raging beauty. I sure hope she's not MyStalking me. Are one of you secretly her? If you are, don't try to be me – it's too much for any one person to handle.

Hump This!

As I was driving in to work today, I had to resist the urge to just pull off to the side of the highway, put it in park and alternate between crying and screaming. I didn't though – I just yelled obscenities at everyone I had to pass and flipped off everyone who passed me. Hump day, my ass - and no, that is NOT an invitation for anal sex.

Anyhow, not one to dwell, I decided that I would get myself to work and do absolutely NOTHING work related today and THAT will magically fix everything. Won't it? Well, either that or the maniacal laughter that will emanate from my body after I take a shovel and smack a few people in the face will help.

I do want to give a shout out to a few people at the office. I'm not naming names, but chances are you know someone JUST like them. Most every work place has these people in it, and chances are if your office doesn't, you're probably it. So, a big resounding FUCK YOU goes to:

?The woman who has had every experience you can ever imagine, and the way she did it back then is always better than the way you're doing it now.

?The woman whose natural voice is a whine. She also generally contorts her face when she speaks.

?The closet homosexual with the wife and 2 kids who likes to point at you and say "Heyyyy" while winking and smiling a cheesy grin.

?The guy who, no matter what experience you're relaying to him, had something MUCH more spectacular happen to him when he was in college.

Anyway, on to more important things. From my last blog, you can surmise that I enjoy delving into the minds of people. I like to know why they are doing the things they are doing, what they hope to gain from it and how they think it's working out for them. Occasionally, someone does something that makes me stop in my tracks and think "what the fuck are you doing?" Those images get stuck in my head and I can't help but wonder what is really going on in certain situations. Maybe you can help me. YOU tell me, what's really going on here:

Scene #1

Scene #2

Scene #3:

And in keeping with my oral fixation

Scene #4

I already know what's going on here. This guy is using his penis for the very last time - she'll make sure of it. He just doesn't know it yet.

Carry on!

Something you should know about me

I have a thing for violent crime. And not your average run of the mill, someone got the crap beat out of them and robbed in an alley kind of violent crime. I don't much care for your garden variety murder either. What is it that I'm obsessed with? Controversial killers, spree killers and serial killers. The Manson, Berkowitz, Bundy, Gacy, Dahmer kind of serial killers & how they got to become killers.

Now, having said that, they don't do me any good if they've never been caught or they don't know who did it. Why? Because I'm not interested in the murders themselves – that's gruesome and I am not a sick bastard. Thus, I have little interest in the Zodiac. I'm interested in the who's and the why's and yes, even some of the theories surrounding people like Son of Sam, who *I'M SORRY* was NOT acting alone, no matter what you tell me. I know better.

This is not a new fascination – it goes back at LEAST to middle school. I remember in 8^th grade, I had a speech class. We were supposed to give a persuasive speech – you know, try to persuade people to believe something. My classmates tried to persuade people of things like "Coke is better than Pepsi" or that Dina Hartel was a good choice for head cheerleader. Me? I tried to persuade my class that Jeffrey MacDonald, a Green Beret from North Carolina, murdered his wife and 2 daughters. Ah yes, I remember standing up at that podium proudly discussing blood spatters while half of the class just stared at me, the other half kept their eyes closed. Except for one boy – I wish I could remember his name – I think it was Jeff Gunderson. He listened intently. And I know he understood because in my yearbook that year, he signed it and then wrote "P.S. I think MacDonald was guilty too." Looking back on it all, that boy soooo wanted to do me and was sending out a super smarty-pants vibe, but I was a silly little naïve 8^th grade girl, just wanting to talk about killers.

Sometime around there, I read Helter Skelter for the first time. I've since been through 3 copies of the book, reading it over and over again from time to time. And every time I read it, I find something new in it that I missed before. Something in the background of Squeaky Fromme, something about the way Susan Atkins was raised. There's always something there that clicks all of a sudden. I don't think I'll ever tire of reading it.

It's why I enjoy shows like "Criminal Minds" because it's not the murders or the thrill of the chase that intrigues me. It's all in the backgrounds of the killers, the forensic evidence that leads investigators down a certain path and the ability to put it all together in the end – THAT is what turns me on about this kind of stuff.

Oh, what I would give to have this kind of insight about people. To have studied human nature so intently that I would be able to weed out any hidden undesirables from my circle of friends; to have made only good decisions in relationships. But would I really want to be doing profiles on everyone I meet before deciding whether or not to be their friend? If I had done that, would I still be talking to you?

Sure, I've formed opinions about the majority of people I've spent any time conversing with on here. I have my ideas as to which of you are stalkers and which may be harboring fantasies of world domination, death or destruction, which of you are truly here just to have some fun and talk to a wide variety of people and those of you looking for a piece of ass. Of course, they're only my opinions, but I'm probably right.

I hope that my fascination with murderers doesn't change your opinion of me, even if it seems out of character for the chick you know on MySpace.

Your turn - share something with me about yourself that may seem out of character for you.

Appropriately Inappropriate

Censorship - UGH! Several more blogs I regularly read have been deleted because they were - are you ready for this? INAPPROPRIATE! What? Naughty blogs? Get OUT! What is this world coming to? What about the children?!?!?

And so, in an attempt to lure the MySpace Naughty Patrol away from those people who are there to entertain ME, I am posting an inappropriate blog - because I have never done that before. And, I'm posting pictures because I don't think you're supposed to do that either. But, I'm throwing caution to the wind. Here goes nothing.

~Put that in your mouth and smoke it! -
A pictoral web log by Kim~

FUNNY NOTE: SHORTLY AFTER THE ORIGINAL POSTING OF THIS BLOG, PHOTOBUCKET DELETED THIS PHOTO SAYING IT VIOLATED IT'S TERMS OF SERVICE. Allow me to tell you it was a picture of 2 women, both fully dressed. They were facing each other and each had one end of a cucumber in their mouths. What's inappropriate about teaching children to eat vegetables? I dunno...










I encourage each of you to go out there today, find one inappropriately appropriate photo and post it here for me. Do it because I asked you to. Do it for your country. Do it because you want the internet to remain a cesspool of inappropriate content for all ages! Or don't do it, I don't care.

Blog in 10 minutes flat!

I finally have time to sit and write. It's been a whirl-wind kind of day and I have to wake up my offspring in 10, so I'll keep this short and sweet.

SuperBowl - whatever. Food is made, I'm ready for a nap. Get on with it. GO COLTS. Not that I like either team, but you've gotta root for someone.

The only thing I want to share with anyone today is something that I wrote - just now. It's not reflective of anything going on in my life at the moment. It just is what it is - something I wrote.


I thought of you today, for the first time in years.
I thought about how it was to be with you -
the way you looked at me
the way you made me feel
and how I was always there for you.
And although its been 15 years since I last saw you,
The memories are fresh in my mind, as if everything happened yesterday
And it makes me smile to think back on it all and know
that I had you locked up for fucking with me.
I fucking hate you.
Dick.

Don't we all feel better now? I know I do. Enjoy the SuperBowl. That's all folks!

Naughty Vs. Nasty, 101

I've talked about it before, but I need to clarify a little more because apparently, some of you need clarifying, and I'm not talking about shampoo. Many women like it when you talk a little dirty to them. But, you need to learn the difference between fun dirty talk and just being nasty. Know what she likes before you try any of these. She may truly be a freak and enjoy the nastiest stuff you can dish out, but then again, she may just think you're a sick puppy and show you the door as she's filing a restraining order against you.

What would YOU say?

Scenario 1

You and your bitch, I mean woman, are out for a romantic dinner. You want to say something to her to let her know what's for dessert. As you take her hands in yours, lean over and look deeply into her eyes you say:

NASTY: "Your eyes are so beautiful. When I look into them, it makes me want to rip them out and skull fuck you."

NAUGHTY: "Your eyes are so beautiful. When I look into them, I can see our future. And the future involves me fucking your brains out."


Scenario 2

You really would like to engage in oral sex with your lady. She's not so sure about it. Skip this one. Leave immediately. Any bitch who won't suck your dick in exchange for you eating her out isn't worth your time or energy. Find one who will.


Scenario 3

You would really like to try something different, a little on the naughty side. You're not sure if she's into it, but you'd like to find out. You don't want her to think you're a total freak, so you need to ease her into the situation and bring up the idea of what you'd like to do.


NASTY: "Hey baby, let me shit on your tits!"

NAUGHTY: "How about I give you that pearl necklace you've always wanted?"


Scenario 4

You are so horny. She is not. You need to entice her into having great sex with you. You come up behind her and wrap your arms around her. Do you say:

NASTY: Get your ass in that room and strip bitch. I'm fucking you whether you like it or not.

Oh wait, that's not a good example. That one might work. Move that to the NAUGHTY column. Try this one:

NASTY: You're my woman and we're fucking because that's your job.

No, no, that might work too! How about this one:

NASTY: I'm going to fuck you and you're not allowed to cum!

No, wait! That's a fun challenge. Ok, Ok, I have it now -

NASTY: Your pussy smells like fish and I'm in the mood for some tuna salad.


Hopefully, you can see the difference between nasty and naughty. Oh wait, one more.

Tomorrow is Superbowl Sunday. Which of these two is more likely to get you laid:

A. GO BEARS
B. GO COLTS

Answer: GO BEARS is as nasty as they come. Don't say that. EVER.

GO COLTS!

Soul Searching - Sort of

I locked both sets of keys in the van this morning – while it was running. Had to call a locksmith to come to my rescue. $45 for Locksmith Jim to work his magic and FINALLY made it to work, albeit 2 hours late. I could have bought a cheap new vibrator with that money. Ah well, what are you gonna do? Come to work and blog, that's what!

My offering for you today – some not-so-creative writing.

Soul Searching

I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out just what I'm supposed to be doing with my life, and if the choices I've made are the right ones. I think that they are, but it never hurts to examine other avenues, just to be certain there isn't something that would enhance the quality of my current life.

I started my search one crisp, February morning, choosing to look down Avenue A first. I was in need of coffee. I found this quaint little café and thought it was the perfect place for me. After all, I'm married to Jerry, and he's white. I figured if I was going to explore alternate avenues, I should start off with that which I am most familiar with.

After a delicious cup of coffee and something off of the buffet that I *think* was some type of pastry :

I decided to head out and see what type of people inhabit the area. As with any place, they had their fair share (notice how those three words all rhyme, yet are spelled completely different? That's the English language for ya!) of drug addicts,

freaks,

and some over all very happy people. Apparently, people with freckles are a ton of fun!

They all really understood the importance of dressing appropriately for special occasions.

If there's one thing I learned rather quickly on this seach, it's that I could certainly use some fashion tips from people who are in the know! I guess that means no pearl necklace on June 6^th.

I did run into a very helpful group of people, who wanted to do everything they could to ensure I enjoyed my visit in their area.

.

It's always nice to find people willing to help you out when you need it.

I was getting thirsty, and this place looked like a promising place to get something to drink.

Being that I think breasts are beautiful, I thought I'd duck my head in and see what I could get my hands on.

I must have a sixth sense about these things, as their menu was indeed tempting! Something I had never tried before would definitely be on tap. After all, this quest was about experiencing new and different things to see if I'm missing anything.

However, I was greeted with some bad news when I tried to get what it was I came for.

I should have known better than to assume that my search would be completed in one day. I wonder where to venture next?