From the KTPP Vaults

Facts of Life Part II - Let me out of there!

2009-02-18T09:33:00.000-05:00

I thought I had dodged a bullet with Joshy B and his questioning about how you make a baby. He seemed satisfied with my explanation of how babies were made. (See yesterday's blog for my explanation of the miracle of life)

Then he says to me, "Well how does the baby come out?"

"Well, the mom has really bad stomach aches and goes to the doctor and the doctor gets the baby out."

"Like a sliver or a thorn or a spiny pine?"

"Uh, yeah, sort of."

He was happy with that. When you have an inquisitive kid, one should always let sleeping dogs lie. One should also never fill in their day care provider on the happenings of the evening before if she's a ballsy kind of chick who likes to laugh and play practical jokes.

"Josh," Kathy said with a devilish tone. "HOW does the doctor get the baby out?"

Josh thought for a moment and then looked at me for the answer. "Well, Mom?"

"Uh, well..." I said, swallowing hard, attempting to rid myself of the lump that had formed in my throat.

"Sometimes, the doctor has to cut open the mom's tummy to get the baby out." *Maybe that'll distract him*

"Let me see where he put your tummy back together!"

"Oh, I didn't have to have my tummy cut open honey. I, uh...ummmmm...I just pushed you out. I don't really know a whole lot about the process because I had my eyes closed the whole time. And next thing I knew, there you were!"

He looked at me for a minute with a concerned look on his face. To a 5 year old, pushing is done with your hands and arms, so I'm sure he was trying to figure out how he got out of there, and then he says, "I've got it! I think babies come out of your mouth, and they're all wet and slimy, like I was in the picture. You know, like throw up. That's what I do when I have a tummy ache. But I don't go to the doctor. I just throw up. I throwed up chocolate milk last time. Remember that mom? And at Disney World, I throwed up. I remember one time, when I was 2, I throwed up that orange juice and I cried and cried and throwed up some more..."

And just like that, the subject of where babies come from and how they were born was closed, because to a five year old boy, talking about barfing is WAY more interesting.

I love being a mom.

Facts of Life Part 1 - Makin' Babies

2009-02-18T09:31:00.000-05:00

It has happened. I have had to have the first, of what I am sure will be many, of the “uncomfortable” conversations with Joshy B.

He says to me, “Mom, why do all moms have babies?”

“Because babies make us Moms. Without a kid, we’re just ladies.”

“Well, how do you get to be a mom?”

“You have a baby.”

“How do you make a baby?”

OH SHIT. I wasn’t ready for this. He’s only 5. I thought I had a year or so of talking to my friends on MySpace and working out the world’s greatest story to tell the boy that contained just enough truth to make him sound like he knows what he’s talking about without having to tell him that his Daddy stuck his wanker in his Mommy’s cooch!

Quick thinking skills powers ACTIVATE! Form of – a con artist!

“Well honey, you take a little piece of a mom and a little piece of a dad. You smoosh them together and they grow in the mom’s tummy into a baby.”

Did you notice how that’s 100% true and yet I didn’t say anything uncomfortable? That’s the art of being the style of mom I am.

“But Mom…”

Oh fuck. Here it comes. Go ahead Joshy B. Ask your mom how the baby gets in there so that I can effectively scar you for life with thoughts and tales of your parents doing the horizontal bop.

“…if you gave me a part of you, where is that part missing from on you?”

WHEW. Dodged that one. “Well honey, it was an egg from inside of me, so I’m not really missing it.”

“How many eggs do you have?”

“Well, I don’t know. I’d imagine there are more in there, but I don’t know how many.”

“Well can you smoosh one with part of Daddy? I want a friend to play with.”

*Sigh*

“No honey. Mom’s not having any more kids – you and Dakota are enough.”

Jerry thinks I should tell him, “We can’t. Daddy is only half a man since his vasectomy.”

Bwahahahahhahaha

In the interest of keeping this short, tomorrow I will tell you about the conversation we had involving HOW the baby gets out of the Mom’s tummy. You won’t want to miss this.

I'm an emotional wreck!

2007-03-23T21:33:00.000-04:00

As if having a sick toddler for 3 days and then getting sick yourself isn't enough, I have a crisis. And it is very real and very painful for me to face on my own, much less talk about. Please forgive me for turning the dial to "serious" for the day. I need to get real. I need to invite you into my personal life and spill my heart out on the floor for all to see. And maybe, just maybe someone will have some magic words that will act as a band-aid to my soul. If you don't want to read the serious, go now. I won't mind. This may get mushy. I may cry. You never can tell with these things.

It all started maybe 2 weeks ago. Things were sailing along just fine and I was doing my best to get my 3 a Day the Psycho Princess way. Most days, I achieved my goal. And then, things started to go down hill.

Jack wasn't performing well at all, so I decided that since I didn't feel like getting out of bed to get batteries, I'd give Venus a whirl. She hummed and purred momentarily, but the high setting wouldn't work – at all. Must be the batteries – but I'm already in bed and don't feel like trouncing to the kitchen. Let's see what happens with what we've got and some varying positions. My usual 5 minute max to a big happy O turned into about 20 minutes. Grrrrr Not what I want when I'm dead tired and ready for sleep.

SO, the next day I dutifully replaced the batteries in Jack, gave him a kiss and fired him up. Nothing. No excitement. 25 minutes to O. COME ON! This is supposed to be my chance for mind altering clitoral orgasms in less than 5 minutes. I don't have time for 25 minutes, not when sleep is so damn precious to me.

And because of this, the 3 a day rule turned into 1 a day, unless there was sweet loving from Big Daddy. And that fell off to none without the loving. Because it was taking too damn long, and now I cannot seem to have a clitoral orgasm during solo loving to save my life. It just isn't happening.

Maybe Jack and Venus have had it. Maybe they're pissed because I keep them in a drawer with panties. I thought they'd feel at home there. I have turned Jack on and examined all of his moving parts, and they all appear to be moving appropriately at the varying speeds according to how many times I push each button. Venus appears fine as well. So, I fear this is not a simple case of burnt out motors. At least not on the toys.

I believe that my clit is broken. Or maybe it has become desensitized from all the vibrating. *Shudder* Say it isn't so! Perhaps it has joined the witness relocation program or it is just in hiding or taking a siesta. Whatever the case, it is no longer doing what it is SUPPOSED to be doing. If your hoodie-covered love button isn't giving you pleasure, what is the point?

It is probably a good thing that I'm going to a sex toy party at the beginning of May, but what to do in the mean time? I'm at a loss for what to do. Should I see a doctor? Should I try something new? Is there any hope for me? Am I losing my mojo?

So many questions, so few orgasms these days. TGIF – TBIWHAOWJOV. Whatever.

Why me?

2007-03-23T21:15:00.000-04:00

**Warning, I'm going to talk a little bit about bleeding – from areas you may not want to think about. And if you read this you'd better AT LEAST leave me some kudos (you can do that without commenting you know) because I deserve at least that for sharing this information with you, don't you think?

Here's how my day started. At 5:30 AM, I log on to MySpace to check in on some things and I get an email from a man (I'm guessing here) with no picture. I'll share it with you. Because that's how I roll.

From:	Michael http://www.myspace.com/strtarrow
Subject:	If....
Body:	If I were a lesbian I would be sucking your pie hole until your head caved in. Michael

First of all, isn't a pie hole your mouth, as in "Shut your pie hole!" ? I don't think I like the idea of someone sucking so hard on my MOUTH that my head caves in. I'd like to see a demonstration of that though, perhaps on a CPR doll?

Second: that's no way to speak to a lady, fucker.

Third: I'm not a lesbian. He OBVIOUSLY saw the word lesbian in the title of my blog and assumed that I was. See what happens when you assume? You make an ass out of yourself, live on MySpace. And I exploit it.

Moving on...

So, I'm talking to my friend about what we should order for lunch today. As I lean forward to look at the menu with her, I suddenly felt like my ass was cold and very visible. I reach back to see if maybe they just rode down a little lower than normal. What do you suppose I discovered when I put my hand back there? I'll tell you – at 10:07 AM, not even 3 hours into my work day, the zipper on the back of my black pants has split wide open. Broken. Busted. WIDE OPEN. Exposing my lovely blue lace up the sides boy short underwear from Frederick's for everyone to see. Excellent.

Note: While these are the panties I'm wearing today, this is not me in them. However, you should try to make me feel better by pretending it IS my body and fantasizing about me the rest of the day.

6 hours left to go and then I still have to walk the mile to my car. THIS is so what I did not need on a day when I'm bleeding fully and completely from my girlie bits.

It's not like the pants are tight – in fact they are a little bit baggy, at least while I'm standing. Maybe they are just a little old? Maybe my ass spreads out more than I like to think it does when I sit down and lean forward? So, my friend and I giggle about the situation and I know that I have to safety pin them somehow to get through the day and hope that my sweater is long enough to cover it. So, off to the bathroom I go, yank the pants down and begin pinning. At least I pinned from the inside so that if my sweater does not cover the great divide, you won't see the shiny tell-tale safety pins. Which is good, or everyone walking behind me would know what color my panties are.

Back to my desk to order our lunch. I sit down and "DAMN IT! That shit hurt! Yes, a safety pin must not have been closed properly and it poked me in my ass. SO, I stand up, reach my hand down the back of my pants because I have to get it out of my ass and – one of the doctors up here walks past my office. "Ummm. Are you ok?" he asks. "Safety pin!" I snapped, unable to say anything else. He shuffled away rather quickly, possibly not wanting to have to look at me any longer. "I'll wash my hands when I'm done!" I yell after him. He probably thinks I was doing something naughty.

I remove the rogue pin and feel to be certain it's not really a necessary pin to seal the gap, get out my trusty antibacterial hand sanitizer, and sit back down to put my shoes back on (I generally flip them off when I'm sitting at my desk. I so hate shoes!) "FUCK!" This time, I swear it missed my butthole by about 1cm. And this one is not just poking me, it's fully inserted into the skin on my right buttock and the shit hurts! SO, I waddled off to the ladies room, past the front reception desk.. I'm walking with stiff legs, bowed out at the knees, as if I had just dropped a load in my pants. And the entire time, I'm pulling my sweater down in the back so as not to give a goody view to the entire waiting room which is unusually FULL of people.

I fix all the pins and start to clean up. If I've never mentioned it before, I'm on blood thinners for life due to a clotting disorder. So when I start to bleed, sometimes it's hard to make it stop. So I stick little bits of TP on the two bloody spots that the pins have made, like a guy would stick on his face if he cuts himself shaving. Satisfied that all the blood spots are covered, and the pins are arranged and closed, I head back to my office. I heard the snickering. "WHAT?!?!" I snapped.

"You missed a spot" she says sweetly. "Your underwear are a pretty color blue."

"It's Frederick's of Hollywood Alluring Blue if you must know. 4 for $20 right now. Get your own if you want to look at them some more." And with that, I walked into my office and shut the door where I dropped 'em and rearranged the pins yet again.

So far, so good. I have decided that I'm not getting up from my desk until it's time to go home and perhaps I will eat while working in order to leave early. I'll tell them it's a pants emergency.

So there you have it. I'm not only bleeding from my snatch, but also from parts of my ass. And it's not even 11:00 AM. How is YOUR Thursday going?

The big birthday party!!

2007-03-23T20:57:00.000-04:00

First, I have to say I had a BLAST last night. Thanks to everyone who came out for the hoo-ha. I don't have photos of most of you, but you know who you are. The camera didn't make it out until the end of the evening, my apologies. There are some photos in my pictures section (at least the ones that were appropriate for public viewing). There are others that will never see the light of day, other than for the people in them. You ladies know what I'm talking about!

I'm hoping to see Shannon's picture of the crazy 80's hair lady that sat behind us that everyone was giggling at. All I can say is it was giant, and I wouldn't be surprised if she was smuggling something up in her do!

I finally got to meet Shannon in Real Space! Shannon was my one of my first three friends ever on MySpace. And let me tell you people - she is so freakin' adorable in person. Photos do not do her justice. But, I shall try:

Now, the drinks were flowing and the lovely Shannon gave me some ice cube trays that will allow me to put penises in the drinks of my guests. They are kind of frightening though, because on the balls are bumps. BIG bumps. Genital wart ice cubes ROCK!

Throughout the evening, Shannon decided to add to my birthday loot with various items from the table. Jerry dug out MOST of it, but missed a couple of things:

I only hope that knife was the one that had been on her tongue earlier!

Sheryl was there as well. You may know her as Key Westie, I'm proud to call her friend! Not to be outdone by the Princess doing a blow job in public, she too performed felatio on a shot glass. SEE?

She gave me an assortment of naughty things. Some of my favorites are pictured below, although the basket of oils and lubes contained quite a bit more than what I'm showing here.

And of course, the pussy panties:

Also got a bottle of wine, some money and a coupon for hair color/highlight and style from Kathy. But most importantly, I have the memories of a birthday get together that I'm not likely to soon forget. I don't think Shannon or Sheryl will forget it either. And I KNOW that Jerry will probably NEVER forget - that's all I'm saying!

Slap it, Spank it, Spit on it!

2007-03-22T21:31:00.000-04:00

*I am sick. My ass is on fire. I cannot be held responsible for the content of this blog nor the content of the comments which may or may not be left.

I considered telling you the story of the first and only time I had anal sex. However, that would be getting way too personal, you know TMI. And you all know how I carefully guard my secrets. I thought if I opened that can of worms, I'd also have to describe the asshole – no wait, wrong term – the dick face I dated at the time and I don't especially want to go there. Because he was a jackhole who I thought I could turn into a respectable human. Silly 18 year old girl dreams & aspirations all shot to hell.

No, I will not revisit the tale of the Hershey highway because is too painful, or more correctly, WAS too painful. Instead, I would like to share with you my thoughts on spanking.

In order to share with you, I will need to give you my opinion on it. I think it's a good thing when done properly at the right time. It should never leave a mark nor be just a knee jerk reaction. It has to be measured and timed and delivered like you mean it. Now, to all of you who are considering calling social services on me, let me assure you that I am over the age of 18. Let me also assure you that I kind of like it. And you thought I was talking about spanking as a form of punishment for a child, didn't you? Well, if you did, you don't know me very well.

Now I don't like the spanking for pain that could be involved. In fact, if he smacks my ass too hard, I'm likely to scream "OW!" and lock him in a ninja death grip with my stunning labia and va-gi-gi muscles. And it wouldn't be pleasant. I do LOTS of kegels and those muscles are quite strong – capable of crushing a penis if you're not careful.

So, the spank for me should always be open handed, right on my ass. And it better not feel like he's tapping it just to get my attention. It should not be so hard that it leaves a welt on my tender buttock – that skin is very sensitive you know. And you should always rub after a spank, especially if you're going to spank it again.

For me, the spank works best when doing it doggie style. The angles are all just right for maximum enjoyment. Plus, it's easy to just drop down and turn around and knee him in the groin if he does it too hard.

I'm not sure why I like it, I just do. Is it the sound? Could be – I like the slapping sound. Of course, I prefer the slapping to be his thighs against my ass, but I'll take the hand. Maybe it's the rhythm. That was always my favorite part of going to a concert – feeling the bass pounding through the sound system so that it made vibrations through your whole body. Whatever it is, I like a spanking while getting down and dirty.

And speaking of spanking, I'm curious about something. When you're watching porn, you often see a person slapping the twat of a woman while either performing oral or just fingering her. What's that about? Is it similar to spanking her ass – the sound and the rhythm? Or is there a purpose to it? Like if you spank the bean, does it sends waves of pleasure rushing through her? I don't think this has ever been done to me. If it has, it obviously wasn't memorable. I tried it once during a marathon self-pleasuring session, and it didn't do anything for me. Maybe I'm doing it wrong. Maybe it's something done for a camera and that's it. I don't know. Will someone tell me?

And while you're at it – is it sexy for a woman to spit on a man's dick while giving him head? I mean, they do it in the movies – giant gobs of spit being shot out of a woman's mouth onto his unit. I see people spitting on women's cooters too. I mean, I thought spitting on someone was an insult. Are they saying "your nether region is not suitable for me – it's offensive. However, I'm being paid a shit ton of money to lick and suck on it, so I will belittle it the only way I know how." I think it would be more useful and sensational if we just blew raspberries on each other's naughty bits.

Happy Thursday? I think not. It took me 3 bathroom trips to finish typing this. Aren't you glad you know that? Yeah, that's what I thought.

Things I hate

2007-03-21T21:31:00.000-04:00

A list of things I hate, by Psycho Princess

1. I hate the news teasers. You know these things that come on at 6:00 pm for the 11:00 news. It goes something like this "Find out something that most people have in their freezer that will kill your family in 3 hours, max - watch the News at 11:00!" You usually hear this while you're sautéing the chicken breast you took out of the freezer and cooking the peas - from the freezer. So you throw it all away, and refuse to eat any food because you're certain it's all been frozen at some point, and you don't let anyone put ice in their water until you watch the news. And you watch it as they tell you that that you can disassemble the ice crusher and turn the blades into a deadly weapon that will cause a human to bleed out in 3 hours without treatment.

2. I hate not being on a regular menstrual cycle. Ever since I was 14, they come when they want - every two weeks, once every 6 months, every 28 days - you don't know! And it comes without warning, usually when wearing a white skirt, white pants or no panties.

3. I hate waking up in the middle of the night and finding dried jizz on my face and having no memory of how it got there. I'm just saying.

4. I hate it when skinny people talk about how fat they are. Check your weight and compare it to a BMI scale. You're probably right where you should be. When a skinny and in shape person complains to a heavier person about how fat they are, they're basically telling the other person "and if I'm fat, imagine what you are!" So until your BMI falls in that overweight range, don't tell people you're fat.

5. I hate it when you get your new haircut and style and someone says "Wow! You look so pretty with your hair like that!" Now why would I hate this? Because, you're basically saying "You looked like complete shit the entire time I've known you, but finally you did something right." This goes hand in hand with "No, you don't look that terrible." Can you leave the word "that" out of the sentence? Because with it in there, you're really saying "You look like ass, but I'd still screw you IF you were the last person on earth, so don't sweat it!"

6. I hate reality shows. They aren't my reality, so aren't they still somewhat of a fantasy show? I mean how many times in your life are YOU offered an immunity challenge? That's not reality for most people. They really need to call them "semi-unscripted shows of stuff that you will probably never have the need or opportunity to do shows".

7. I hate the way movies are filmed. Did you know they don't film them start to finish? They do a couple of lines from the end, a scene from the beginning, something from the middle, and in random order. If they would just shoot it start to finish, there would not be a lot fewer continuity issues.

8. And while we're talking movies, I hate pan & scan movies. When I first hooked up with Jerry, he only watched movies in wide screen mode. I absolutely HATED the black bars at the top and the bottom. I wanted it to fill up the entire screen. He explained to me about the width of the film that movies are filmed on and how when you watch it full screen on a standard tv, you aren't seeing the left and right side of the film. And often, there are things happening over there that you need to see. So when you're watching a movie formatted to fit a standard tv and they come to part of the movie where whatever was cut off on the left is necessary for the scene, they basically stop the action and slide the film over so you can see it then stop and slide it back when it doesn't matter any more. The absolutely worst example of this is "A League of Their Own." It drives me batty to watch that movie full screen. So, we bought the wide screen tv. Now, I can see everything I'm meant to see in every movie. However, the majority of tv shows have black bars on the left and right. But it's ok, because no one is sliding the film around on me.

There are other things, but there's no need to go into them. Most people who know me already know what they are. Plus, then I'd be opening up the cans that hold the topics of politics and religion. And while they're great debating topics, I've been cleaning up puke for 2 days and am probably going to have to do it again later today, and I don't have time for a debate. Unless you want to debate any of the fine points I made above. In which case, my rebuttal will probably amount to "So?" or "Nuh uh!"

Your turn! What do you absolutely hate?

Nothing - I've got nothing

2007-03-20T21:30:00.000-04:00

Just some updates today and that's all I have.

This, hopefully, will be the last of my tags for awhile. BossLady tagged me to write about my favorite place. I thought about this one for a bit and decided that my favorite place really isn't any one place. It is wherever my family is. When I'm with Jerry, Josh & Dakota, I am whole. Nothing seems too formidable. It's comfort, warmth and love. And it truly is my most favorite place to be.

/mush over

Day 2 of the great child sickness begins! The boy is still sick and I'm hoping today for a day without puke. That'll make me happy as a clam. I'm very sleep deprived as he woke up every hour or so crying and coughing. Parenthood is such a joy!

I'm excited about the pirate! He'll be leaving this week to go see Donna in northern VA and then depending on when he gets back, may either go see Nina or go straight to Nora. I was going to have Tokyo be his maiden voyage, but Nora said she'd like to take him on the MS150 bike ride, and since that holds personal meaning to me, she wins. From there, he's got a list of willing hosts and will be doing some fun things that I wish I could do.

Aside from Tokyo, he'll be traveling to Africa, California, St. Louis, Wisconsin, Illinois, North Dakota, New Mexico, Arizona, Ohio, Connecticut, the list goes on. My goal for him: Get him to every state in the US and every continent that has the internet. WOO! And then, I'll have to get some sort of fancy map to plot his travels.

And now, I will leave you. Yes, it was short, no it wasn't funny or sexual. But I'm willing to bet at least one of you will leave a sexually charged comment.

Sex Tag!

2007-03-19T21:29:00.000-04:00

The very lovely Sara has tagged me just KNOWING that I couldn't resist. In turn, I tag everyone of you bitches & bastards (and when I say that I really mean female & male friends).

1. WHAT IS THE KINKIEST SEXUAL THING YOU HAVE EVER DONE?

This one time, at chorus camp, I convinced the girls I was rooming with that we should all get naked and drink Boonesfarm Stawberry all night long. Tanya got so sick! Then, we went wrapped up in bed sheets and went cow tipping. All was good and innocent fun until Jodi fell on one of the bulls and his horns went up her ass. She decided right then and there that she was going to continue having anal sex with the bull's horns. We all watched and rooted her on. Was that wrong?

2. HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE YOU HAD SEX WITH...........NO FUCKING LYING!

I lost count around #175. And then, I figured since I didn't know, I'd just start over from scratch. That happened when I met my husband. So I'll go with 1.

3. DO YOU LIKE TO SUCK DICK? DO YOU SWALLOW? IF YOUR MALE.........DON'T LIE HERE GUYS, DO YOU LIKE EATING PUSSY? FOR HOW LONG? IF GAY, ANSWER WHAT PERTAINS TO YOU!

Do I like to? Hmmmm…it's ok. I could take it or leave it. I certainly like to dish out pleasure. I will say that its much more pleasurable for me when he's just gotten out of the shower and it doesn't have that musky smell – you know what I'm talking about – he's been doing yard work for hours on a 95 degree day, comes in to have a beer and whips his dick out for you. Yeah, that's not so good for me.

I do swallow, but only because I want to see if I can feel sperm swimming in my stomach. Alannis Morisette said it best – "It feels so good – swimming in your stomach." I know, I know, she was singing about a pill, but let's face it, pills don't swim. I think she was really singing about sperm. I dare you to prove me wrong!

4. WHO WAS THE WORST FUCK AND WHY? YES I WANT NAMES, WHO CARES, YOU BOTH KNOW THEY SUCKED ANYWAY!

The worst? Geez. That's hard. Probably Jerry the first time we did it, only because his dick is gigantic and it really hurt badly. When you have a tight little snatch and someone tries to shove something the size of a state fair blue ribbon winning cucumber (not the English kind either – those are too skinny) in there, it's going to hurt. A lot. And since he was the only person EVER (right honey?) I have to pick that one.

5. EVER TURNED DOWN SEX DUE TO THE SIZE OF THEIR C*CK OR P*SSY?

This makes me laugh because someone put stars in where vowels should be and I was going to replace it, but instead I will say the only time I turned down sex due to the size of something was when the guy WAS a giant pussy.

6. WHAT IS YOUR SEXUAL FANTASY? WITH WHO?

I have many fantasies. However, I would like Jerry to show up one day with Sara on one arm and Tina on the other. Then, the two girls would get naked, Jerry and I would watch some live lesbian porn. Then, we'd lock them out of the house on the back deck (still naked of course) point and laugh at their predicament and then we'd go fuck like bunnies.

7. HOW SOON HAVE YOU FUCKED SOMEONE AFTER MEETING THEM?

Oh lordy. I can't remember. Never on the first time meeting them. Usually not within the first week. I like to know who I'm pooning.

8. EVER PUKED ON SOMEONE DURING SEX?

Not on purpose. Geez. You really know how to make a girl feel dirty! What are you doing later?

9. WHO IS YOUR MYSPACE SEXUAL FUCK OF THE DAY? I'M SURE THEY WOULD LOVE TO KNOW, NOW'S YOUR CHANCE!

Hmmmm. That's a tough one. I love Gina's hair. Josh is very cute. Cranks is funny and Dianne & Meagan are just plain hot. Gary's bald head would be fun to touch (the one on his shoulders), Eric has a great voice, but Whiskey is Canadian. What to do, what to do?? TJ is smart & funny, Melissa is sassy. Then there's Katie and Lon together. Oh man, this is hard! Oh hell, I pick – Xena – Warrior Princess.

10. WHO ON YOUR FRIENDS LIST WOULD YOU NOT FUCK IF THEY WERE THE LAST PERSON ON EARTH?

I have no family on my list, so I can't narrow it down that way. So, when you say the last person on earth, you mean that there are animals left? Like a horse? Because I wouldn't fuck a horse – not even if they get rid of the herpes. I could do the Hollywood Square answer and say Jerry, but that's just a bold face lie. Oh, back to my friends list. I would not fuck Jason. Why? Because he's my neighbor and if I didn't say him, there's bound to be questions.

Live of a seaman* for me! *Not semen

2007-03-18T21:28:00.000-04:00

I have an idea. I have a little pirate mask. See...

Don't ask me why I have that, I'm not telling. But anyhow, this pirate wants to see the world through your eyes. So I was thinking, if I had a willing participant, I could mail him to you. And you could take him somewhere, put him on and let him see the world through your eyes. Then that person can take a picture of themselves as the pirate in some touristy kind of spot or doing something outrageously fun and send it to me. I'll open up his own Pirate MySpace page and we'll post them. Then that person should send him either home or out to someone else on MySpace. I have this vision of the Pirate doing great things!

So, are you in? If so, send me a private message explaining why I should send you the pirate, including what you're going to do with him .. be sure to include a mailing address. I'll pick someone to send it to. And if I don't pick you the first time, you'll be on the list of who to send him to the next time he comes home. There will be rules so that we can be sure to follow his adventure, and when I send him out on his maiden voyage, I'll be sure to include the rules.

Now, he is very light foam, and I think can probably find a very light/small box so he shouldn't cost more than $1.50 or so to mail. SO, let's send the pirate on an adventure. We should probably name him too. I'll take suggestions for his name and then we'll vote. Or something gay like that.

There's my silliness for Sunday morning. Now, I need to talk to you about something personal. It involves the conversation at my house last night, women thingies, bodily functions and sex. If you came here for the pirate, you'll want to turn back now.

So, last night, my 12 year old step son, turns to me and says: "Kim, do you have trouble pooping when you have your period?" Let me back up .. the wiener is swollen. I'd post you a picture of her naughty bits, but I don't think MySpace will allow me to post it. Even if they did, Photobucket would deem it inappropriate and delete it. I should mention the reason the wiener is also bleeding a little bit. Poor thing. A mini-wiener all swollen and bleeding. Anyhow, the wiener also has been having a little bit of trouble peeing and pooping because her area is so swollen. So it really was a natural question. I was just impressed that a 12 year old boy had no qualms about asking about my period. I love that kid!

So, back to the wiener. We're standing outside watching her to make sure she goes (she hadn't gone most of the day) and then the question came. It was the funniest thing, and I think Jerry was a little weirded out by it all. When she finally pooped, Jerry is staring at her intently and said "YAY!" My stepson pumped both fists in the air. You would think that the wiener had just finished a marathon.

For those of you curious, I do NOT have trouble with bodily functions when I'm ragging. However, the stunning labia do get a little swollen and even feel like they are throbbing at times during my special moments. Does anyone else experience this? I am also extremely horny during that week. TMI? I don't think so. You know you were wondering these things. I just thought I would offer it to you before you asked. I know how embarrassing it can be to ask the tough questions.

I have no real plans for today, aside from grocery shopping and laundry. Doesn't that sound exciting? I'm just keeping it real folks.

***Little update already on the pirate. He'll most likely start in Tokyo. Since I have a PO Box, you can just send me your address. Then, everyone can just send him back to me and I'll send it out to everyone who wants it. That way, we can be sure some wacko doesn't get your home address. Just this wacko will have it. And I don't get out much, so I assure you you're safe! So, get in on the action now and send me your address.

MySpace Irritations

2007-03-17T21:26:00.000-04:00

Well, the food party is over, I sent a group of happily full people away and now, I'm waiting for my dinner to be delivered to me, hopefully on a silver platter! OK, well since it's from Subway, I'll settle for a paper wrapper. Nothing funny to report about the food party - I was working it, so I didn't get to chit chat and play as much as I would have liked. Key Westie and Kristin (formerly Nancy Drew) were MySpacers in attendance and I didn't even get to chat with them but for a minute or two.

I'm a little concerned about my health as I'm getting more and more body aches from doing anything more than the normal. I'm hoping it's not a sign of things to come.

I'm hoping to not hear any more of this "MySpace Drama" crap. Its tiring. My PSA to all of you: If someone is harassing you, block them. Giving them attention by sending their profile to all of your friends to send to all of their friends is only encouraging the behavior. Either that, or it's a scam to see how many people the originator can get to follow their lead. Don't be a sheep.

MySpace writing contests - I generally don't vote in them, so please don't ask me to. And if you don't see my name on the comments voting for you, don't send me an email asking me why I didn't vote. Really. Don't do it. I go to them and read the entries because I'm always looking for something new to read that either makes me laugh or think. HOWEVER - it's not a writing contest, it's a popularity contest. I appreciate the efforts that each entrant puts into their writing. I appreciate their willingness to share it with the masses. I'm sure many people get lots of new people reading and subscribing to their blog, and if thats what you're interested in, I hope it works out that way for you. But it brings back shades of voting for homecoming court and class president where it was never about deserving, but about who had the most friends. So, I'll always wish you luck. I'll read the entries if I have time. But you can't make me vote. So there.

If you want me to read your blog, please don't send me a request to subscribe. Send me a personal email that says "hey, if you're interested..." I'll read it. If it's something that I'd be interested in reading, I'll subscribe. If not, I generally do check back periodically to see what you've posted. HOWEVER just because you blog doesn't mean I have to read it, even if you're on my friend's list. Some of my favorite bloggers I didn't subscribe to for a long time. Eventually, I did because I liked something they said, so don't be offended and don't be pushy. That just makes me want to not read your blog.

I, Super Psycho Princess, very RARELY leave comments in your comments section - it doesn't mean I don't like you. I want to get to know you, and prefer to do that through interaction that I can keep up with. I respond to emails, blog comments and the like. Let's put it this way - I'm a mom of a 3 year old who likes to blog and play in my blog. Then, I like to read whoever I subscribe to and comment and play in their blogs. I don't have infinite time, so don't take it too hard. It's nothing personal. When I first started on MySpace, I left the 7 or 8 friends I had picture comments all of the time. I also wasn't blogging. AND I only had 7 or 8 friends. Enough said.

I am curious about the people who subscribe to my blog but never say a word. I wonder if you really read it, if you enjoy any of it or take anything away from it. I subscribe to several blogs I don't comment on, so I understand it. I can't say I'm overly bothered by your lack of participation, just more curious as to who you are, what you like and what you don't like. That's all I've got to say about that.

I'm bothered that the blog views counter does not register unique hits. I could sit and hit refresh all day and make my views go way up. Can't they use something that registers unique IP addresses? Then I would know if it's 20 people commenting back and forth all day or if it's a gazillion people reading what I'm putting out there. If they'd just leave kudos, even without a comment, I'd know then. And yes, I have a gazillion page views a day. HA!

Mostly, I enjoy MySpace and the "friends" I have made here. I even have plans in the works to meet many of you. I just wish we all lived closer so I could have a big ole BBQ and drink beer & margaritas with everyone because that will just kick ass!

For now, all I can say is you should all make your way to Wisconsin for the week of the 4th of July. I'll be in town and I want to hit Summerfest - beer, bands & friends - what more can you ask for? And maybe in '08 I'll plan a back yard BBQ and you can all come. Well, not ALL of you, just most of you. There's a couple of shady characters in the mix. And we can hire Cranky Ricky to do our entertainment. Of course, you'd all have to pitch in whatever the going rate was to pay him.

In closing, let me say this: its much EASIER to to be a sheep, but much more FULFILLING to follow your own path, make your own rules and live the life you want to live, not accepting anything less than what you want from the people in your life. Because you deserve it. Don't be a sheep. BAAAAAA!

Really, I'm nice - no I'm not!

2007-03-16T21:26:00.000-04:00

When I was in college, I decided I wanted to work with crazy people. Not crazy people as in the woman in the office trying to create the world's largest ball of rubber bands or the psycho post office worker. We're talking real, live loons! So, I majored in psychology, minored in criminal justice and got me some real world experience. I took a job for $5.25 an hour as an activity aid in a group home for mentally ill people. These people were considered well enough to no longer have to live in the State mental hospital, but could not live on their own. Basically, they paid me to take these people shopping, the movies, out to eat, to the part, whatever we wanted to do. The residents there were an interesting mix of schizophrenics, paranoid-delusional, and just plain psychotic. All names have been changed to protect the confidentiality of those involved.

One of my most favorite residents was Ted. Ted was in the hospital because he had chased his family around with a chainsaw – not to hurt them, but to give them all the haircuts they most certainly needed. Every year, the company bought each resident a holiday gift and the residents had to make their lists. Every year, Ted's list would contain 5 different things. Chainsaws. He'd seek out ads and list each chainsaw by brand, features and even indicated his order of preference. He never got his chainsaw.

One day, I was assigned to work at the house he lived at. Women were not allowed to work there alone because the other resident of that home had some seriously violent tendencies. The first time I met Ted, I was nervous. I was working with a guy named Chuck. Chuck gave me the ground rules for working in that home. "Stick to Ted, I'll handle Roger." And so, my day began.

Because of their violent tendencies, these two were not allowed to go on the outings other residents did. So, we watched a LOT of TV with them. Roger would walk past me and whistle, which made me a little uncomfortable, but Chuck was a big dude – a woman couldn't feel safer with another human being.

I was sitting there watching TV and Ted sat down next to me. He said "If you're uncomfortable, I can move to the chair." I told him he was fine where he was, and didn't have to move for me. Ted started talking. He told me stories about his dreams – all involving chainsaws. He'd get fixated on the chainsaws and he would just repeat that word over and over "Chainsaw!" He got quiet for a minute and looked at me and said "I'm not feeling so well."

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I don't know" he replied. "I think you better take my temperature."

"OK" I said and headed to the office to get the thermometer. "KIM!" he called. I turned around and Ted had dropped his drawers and was bending over, grabbing his ankles with his ass pointed at me. "You have to take it rectally!!" I was shocked! I didn't know what to do. "I'll get Chuck!" I said. "NO! He won't take my temperature for me, but you seem nice, so I just know you will." At this point, Chuck and Roger walked in the room, having heard the conversation. Roger kicked Ted in the ass and screamed at him about "showing the lady some respect." Ted was OK, just pissed off. Roger walked up to me and Chuck took a step forward, sensing that something bad was about to happen. Roger touched my elbow and said "I'm sorry about Ted. It's just been a long time since there's been a lady here. Are you OK?" He said it like he really cared. "I'm OK, just a little shocked!" I muttered. He said "I hope you get to work here again. You, me and Chuck can beat up on Ted and teach him why you should always respect women." He turned and walked off.

Chuck asked if I was OK too, but I sensed more concern coming from violent, crazy Roger. I learned that day not to judge a book by it's cover, that sometimes people aren't as bad as they appear to be.

That lesson was quickly forgotten when the next week Roger was sent back to the state hospital because he tried to sexually assault one of the girls that was working out there. Lessons really learned:

Never trust a wolf in sheep's clothing.
If it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, it's a freakin' duck, OK?
People can put on a great show and still be an asshole when all is said and done.

And now do you understand why it was so easy for me to X-out my neighbor's nipples?

Make time for pleasure

2007-03-15T21:25:00.000-04:00

As I was getting ready to write a stunning blog, I heard a song on my XM Radio that I just had to share the lyrics to. Because it's got me laughing. AND, it inspired me. Read on

Say Anything

Excerpts for the song "Wow, I Can Get Sexual Too"

If I die and go to hell real soon,
it will appear to me as this room.
And for eternity I lay in bed
in my boxers, half stoned,
with the pillow under my head.

At this rate,
I'll be heading for electric chairs.
I'm only human with my cross to bear.
When she described her underwear
I forgot all the rules my rabbi taught me in the old schul.

I don't know what I want. (x4)
I don't know what I want. (Met you on the internet) (x4)

I called her on the phone and she touched herself.
She touched herself. She touched herself.
I called her on the phone and she touched herself.
I laughed myself to sleep.

So, while I was looking forward to regaling you with a tale from my working in the nuthouse days, I will now need to shift gears and talk about my favorite subject: masturbation.

Let's review the basics as I've presented them to you over the past 8 months

1. Everyone should masturbate daily

2. 3 orgasms a day is the KPP-RDA (Kim Psycho Princess - Recommended Daily Allowance) for women. 5 if it's a holiday.

Now I know many of you are thinking "there's no way I have time for this every day, much less 3 times a day!" But come on people! It's like exercise – do it for your sexual health. Here are some suggestions to making time for self-pleasuring:

1. Do it in the shower. Ladies – detachable showerheads are helpful, thought not necessary. They also make waterproof vibrators. And let's not forget the power of your own hands. All soapy, hands roaming over your body...

2. Do it in the car on your ride to work. There's nothing like passing time in a traffic jam practicing a little self love. You can even daydream that your hands are the hands of your significant other - or the hot stranger in the car next to you. Come on guys, you've pulled up next to the hot little blonde in the red Mustang convertible and wondered what it would be like to have her hands on you. Chevy Chase imagined it in Vacation, you do too!

3. Do it at work on your break (or in the middle of the day). If you have an office, close the door and enjoy yourself. You have at least 30 minutes, many have an hour. Why not give yourself what you deserve? Nothing like being paid for having an orgasm. (Incidentally, I think we should also be paid for taking a crap, since we all have to do it anyway, let's do it at work). It's almost like being a whore, but you are your own customer. And you probably don't even have to buy yourself dinner or call yourself later. It's a win-win situation.

4. When making dinner, strap on the Venus Butterfly. You can wear it under your clothes. Dance around a bit to experience varying levels of intensity. And have the most fun cooking in the process. There's nothing quite like having an orgasm while food is sizzling on the stove.

5. Leave the Butterfly strapped on through dinner. You may want to turn it off to give yourself a break and ensure that you don't choke on your food while in the throes of passion. Although, if you've gotta go, it may be quite the story for the rescue squad and their friends and family to talk about the nympho who died with the Venus Butterfly on and fluttering away (and the Band-aids Xing out her nipples). After dinner, flip the switch and enjoy a sensual dessert! Best if served with whipped cream and chocolate sauce.

So, there are 5 suggestions on how to squeeze it in to your busy day. I realize that for men I've only given you 3 suggestions, but since you probably already spank the monkey most every day, you don't need any more ideas.

And a special addendum for my gentlemen friends who are intimidated by sex toys. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Unless the sex toy has better conversation skills than you, more money and the ability to initiate passion on it's own, get over it! You shouldn't feel threatened by them at all. They're not a replacement, they're a supplement. Think of them as a vitamin. We don't replace food with vitamins – we just take them to ensure we're getting everything we need because food doesn't always deliver the right things at the right time. They are there to do the things you physically can't or won't. And if you would just work hand in hand with them (pun intended), you'd find that we ladies will be smiling more often. And we might just be less bitchy.

Tator tots and Band-aids

2007-03-14T21:22:00.000-04:00

First, a very important public service announcement! If you use Carmex, the moment you are done applying it to your lips, wash your hands. Because it really sucks if you put it on and before you can go wash your hands you get an eyelash stuck in your eye, which automatically causes you to rub your eye. Which gets the Carmex in your eye. And that really hurts like a bitch. I'm just saying. And now, it's story time.

Shortly after I escaped from college, I lived in a little town called Janesville, WI.

Janesville is most widely known nationally for being the place where Geraldo Rivera got arrested for punching a Neo-Nazi in the nose. I believe Geraldo also was punched, repeatedly, in the face during that scuffle. Oh! And the Parker Pen company. It is also near the birthplace of the rare white buffalo, Miracle that had Native Americans clamoring to come to that farm. Why? Because in their belief system, a white buffalo is of great spiritual importance. It was a really big deal. And that same farm is also where a second rare white buffalo was born in 2006. Just a little trivia for you.

I lived there (Janesville, not the farm) with my then-boyfriend-now-miserable-memory (I'll refer to him as "Dick Face" from here on out) and the SWF psycho roomie. We had many adventures of our own in this little town. But perhaps my favorite stories are the ones I remember about my looney next door neighbor, I'll call her Marianne to protect her family from the shame of being tied to this woman.

At first, Marianne seemed to be a nice older lady who had the apartment next to us. Until she broke her arm. And then, she turned into the crazy neighbor lady. Or perhaps I just noticed it because my interactions with her went from more than helping her to her car when it was snowy and icy out to basically being her bitch.

I felt bad for Marianne, knowing that she lived alone and her son only came to see her a couple of times a month. SO, I gave her my phone number and told her to call me if she needed help with anything. And then, the calls started.

One time, she had me come over to arrange the tatertots on top of her tatortot casserole. I suggested she just pour them on top, she wanted them standing up a certain way – in concentric circles around the round casserole dish. She actually knew how many fit in her ideal configuration and had counted them out and laid them on some aluminum foil for me. Every night while she was making dinner, she'd call me because there was something she couldn't do: open a can, peel a potato, roll meatballs, you name it.

Then, "the incident" happened. She called me because she was going out with some friends for dinner. They'd be by to pick her up and she's trying to get dressed, but she's having trouble because (and I remember this so clearly) "I have to have something covering my nipples with this white blouse you know!" So, I'm thinking she wants me to hook her bra for her. I get how difficult that can be if one arm is broken. I can do this! So, I walked into her apartment and into her living room. There on the coffee table, Marianne had placed 4 Band-Aids. "I can't get these open" she said. "Did you cut yourself?" I asked. She laughed, and whipped open her robe. "Just put them on me like an X, covering each nipple. I don't wear a bra because I want the gentlemen to see my tits sway." WOW. Oh wow. Here I was, putting Band-Aids on the nipples of a 70-something year old woman so the gentlemen she was having lunch with could see her boobs sway. Classy. I did it, although I was a little freaked out about it.

Thankfully, not long after that incident, she got the cast off. She was always so grateful for what I did for her that she would get free costume jewelry from credit card offers and give it to me. I had a very large collection of fake, ugly ass jewelry. I think she got the credit cards to get me the "free gift" and then cancelled them.

One time, she said she wanted to take me and Dick Face out to lunch to thank us for rescuing her from the snow bank she had driven into. "I'll drive" she said. "I usually take my cat everywhere with me, so there might be cat hair in the car." We open the door to get in the car and it hits me. Cat hair is the least of her worries. Apparently, the cat uses the back seat of the car as a litter box. The smell was atrocious. "Oh, if there's cat shit on the seat, let me know, I'll get it out before you sit down."

I conveniently remembered something I had to take care of before going to lunch, and told her and Dick that I'd meet them at the restaurant. I scurried off in the house to gag and be certain they were gone, laughing because he had to ride in the car with the kooky woman.

He bitched about it later and I reminded him that he wasn't the one standing tatertots up on a casserole in some whacked out mosaic pattern and X-ing out her nipples so the least he could do was ride with the batty old woman in her cat-box car. He did tell me that when they stopped at a red light, cat shit rolled out from under the seat onto the front floor mat. We decided that she must've been so used to the stench that she didn't notice it any more.

In retrospect, that car summed up my relationship with Dick Face. On the outside, it looked pretty decent, but once you got inside, it was so damn pissy that you could hardly stand it, but you got used to it. But once the shit reared it's head, you couldn't just tuck it away and pretend it didn't just roll out every time you came to a stop.

It wasn't long after that and we moved to Milwaukee. I never saw Marianne again, but I'm certain whoever moved in next to her had some marvelous experiences with her. And you know, as odd as she was, I hope when I'm in my 70's, I'm wearing Band-Aids on my nipples so everyone can watch my boobs sway.

Bad boys, bad boys!

2007-03-13T21:21:00.000-04:00

Before I get to the story you're waiting for (which really isn't all it might have been cracked up to be) I had to share something I said on a blog comment. This may not be funny to you, but it's funny to me, so I thought I'd share it because some of my best stuff goes unnoticed. Here it is, my blog comment:

"Glad you had a full weekend - I find I like those better than the ones where I just have to sit around and pick my butt. Which, while entertaining and at times surprising, really isn't all it's cracked up to be. Hahaha - I made a funny there."

I was going to fill everyone in on what was most certainly an exciting high speed chase that ended right in front of my work building, but alas, the news people did not deem the story worthy. However, I will tell you how it all went down, from my point of view.

First, you need to know a couple of things about where I work:

1) Downtown Richmond

2) Right by a big medical center

3) My office window faces Broad Street, which is the big street downtown

So I'm sitting at my desk working (read: writing a blog) and I hear sirens. This is not an uncommon occurrence, being that this is a medical center. So, I think nothing of it and post the picture link to the Virgin/Slut airline photo. And I hear, very distinctly I might add, someone yell "I SAID GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR!" And now, I have to look.

So I peek out my window, and what do I see? 4 State Police cars behind a maroon car (mostly blocked by the giant tree in the courtyard). Outside of the front police car, officers with guns drawn and everything. I kept looking for the cameras filming "COPS Richmond!"

Now, you might be thinking "big deal" but I have never seen police men with guns drawn. I was so excited! I called the other ladies I work with in to peek out my window with me. By the time I grabbed my camera phone, the guns were already put away, which really disappointed me. All I can tell you is that they thoroughly searched that car before leading the 2 occupants away in separate cars. By the time it was over, we had counted 9 State Trooper cars surrounding this car. Being that there were 9 police cars and they had their weapons drawn, I hardly think these guys were just speeding.

I've written to the local news paper and tv stations to ask why information about it does not appear anywhere, and that I think police with guns drawn in front of the Medical Center, should at least warrant an explanation to the nosey bitch who watched from 8 floors up. In my inquiry, I did manage to avoid the phrase "What the fuck, Chuck?" so perhaps they'll feel I am entitled to more than an "Uh....I don't know". Which, incidentally, was the response from the man at the Richmond Times-Dispatch when I called to inquire (last year sometime) why all of the flags on the government buildings were flying at half mast. By the by, if you ever want to know who died when you see a flag flying at half mast, call the Governor's office and ask. Since only the Governor can order state flags flown at half mast, his office always knows. And if you do that, call back the paper and inform THEM of the reason for it. They like it when citizens get involved like that. Of course, maybe my statement that "I scooped The Richmond Times-Dispatch! In your face!" didn't go over so well. Who cares, I got the answer I was looking for back then.

Here's the only picture that turned out worth anything and all you can see is a crew of police men, one of the "perps" in the white shirt and the police car the gun aimers were using as a shield.

Hanging your arm out a window holding a cell phone to take a photo is not an easy task, especially when the window tips in to open and maybe opens 6 or 7 inches.

I'll keep you posted if any of our news agencies gets back to me, but at this point, I'm just going to make up a back story for these guys and lay out an exciting police chase down I-95 in my head. It's probably better that way.

I kept snapping pictures, even though nothing was happening. My rationale? You never know when someone is going to do something that could potentially be news worthy and *I* could have the video and/or still photographs of it. I could have the Zapruder film of an incident that the world has not seen the likes of since Rodney King. Or that other guy. Richard somebody or other. Right?

My friend asked me about this and we had a discussion about what we call the "hero fantasy". We both want so badly to be a hero. I want to be the person who spots the creepy old many driving the 1982 orange Chevette with Alabama plates carrying the little girl who went missing after she posted on her MySpace page that she was 22 and horny. And it wouldn't be enough to call the police and tell them which way the car was heading. No, I'd want to follow him and stay on the phone with the police to tell them every move he makes. And if they take too long getting to him, I want to make him stop the car without hurting anyone.

I want to find the body of a missing man and learn that he was likely murdered by his jealous lover. Note I don't want to actually see the body – maybe just his foot sticking out from underneath a pile of leaves. I want to find the jacket that leads to the happy recovery of the kid that ran away from home. I want to rescue animals (or people) from a burning building. I want to find a murder weapon that the police have been looking for. I want to find a clue as to where a missing person is. I WANT THAT!

Apparently, I want to be a super hero. But I'm not wearing tights. Those aren't for me. I'm not totally against the idea of a cape though. I could be into that. I'd just need a cool name. "Psycho Princess" is not a good super hero name. And if anyone wants to design me a costume that doesn't use spandex (makes me itch) or tights, I'd LOVE to see it. You can have naming rights and everything. Make me your whore. I mean your super hero. I'm already someone's whore.

Are you obsessed with doing it?

2007-03-12T21:20:00.000-04:00

I work in psychiatry. This means I'm familiar with wackos, nut jobs and repressed homosexuals – and those are just the psychiatrists. Some time back, I did a blog where I posted a bunch of ink blots and had my friends tell me what they saw. In the old days, scientists believed that what one saw in the red, blue and green swirls of ink would tell them a lot about the mind of each individual. They don't use that test anymore, claiming the results were purely subjective and basically meant nothing.

I am working on developing a test similar to the inkblot test. Its purpose would not be to tell when a person is crazy. Instead, it would measure a person's obsession with sex. I need you to be my control group - to help me establish the baseline, if you will. It'll be simple. Look at the pictures below and answer the questions. There are no right or wrong answers.

AND - if you've seen anything I should add to this test, please feel free to post the picture and the question that would go with it.

1. Which airline would you rather fly and why?

2. In 3 words or less, tell me what you see in this photo:

3. How likely are you to shop at this store if their normal prices are slightly higher than others in the area but the service is better?

4. Think fast! What's the first thing that comes to mind when you see this picture?

5. How likely would you be to park here if the rate was $15.00 per hour?

And something for you to look forward to for tomorrow (because I don't have all of the details yet today). I got to witness the end of a high speed chase, guns drawn and everything from the comfort of my office window this afternoon. I tried to take pictures with the camera phone, so we'll see tomorrow if any turned out. Stay tuned for further details!

Big Daddy is going down!

2007-03-10T21:19:00.000-05:00

And not on me! Sickos!

April 2, Jerry will have his second surgery. You may remember the microdiscectomy back in October to lop off part of a herniated disc. Well, the pain never went away, and another MRI revealed that what is left of the disc in there is faultier than the San Andreas line. Fissures and crumbling - much like a piece of coffee cake left out to dry. SO, he'll go back in and have a spinal fusion. So, start those prayer rituals, healing dances, goat or virgin sacrifices or whatever it is you do. We'd certainly appreciate it.

Today, I learned the true value of friendship. In the last couple of weeks, as Jer's back got worse, I've been doing more and more things around here as he's not able to help me as much. One day, at work, I got all boo-hooey with my friend Delores (all together now - "DELORES!!") Well, today she, her fiance and her daughter came over and spent a few hours helping me clean up my front yard. 26 bags of leaves, and they never once complained. That's some great friendship right there. Makes me realize how lucky I am (sap, sap, sap). She's the best friend a girl could ask for. In fact, she was my first very own friend I made when I moved to Virginia. And she used to be my boss. She so rocks! I'm looking for volunteers to come and help me clean the INSIDE of my house next. You don't even have to tell me you're coming, just show up any Saturday and be prepared to work! I'll feed you and everything.

Then, we hit the grocery store, did a couple loads of laundry and ordered Chinese food.

I do need to mention that we were accosted outside the grocery store by a large gaggle of girls (and you thought I was going to say geese!). The were taking part in the favorite past time of hellions everywhere the second week in March - selling GirlScout Cookies. They camp out on either side of the entance to the store. You cannot get in or out without passing them. As they put on their cutest smile and say "Would you like to buy some cookies?" And if you say no thanks, they send in the big guns - a brownie. With blonde hair and super blue eyes, who looks up at you with that lost puppydog look and says "PLEASE?" It's not even a comment, it's a plea. She's begging you to buy them.

I did the only thing a self respecting person could do at that moment. I looked at her, smiled and said "No thanks honey, my butt and these hips are expanding just fine on their own with age. YOURS will do the same thing if you grow up eating those."

As she backed slowly away from me with tears in her eyes, I thought for a split second I was a horrible woman. Then, I remembered that my boy will probably be a Cub Scout. This means he'll sell microwave popcorn. And even if I had bought the cookies from the cutie patootie, people are going to shoo my boy away faster than you can say "Puleeeeeeeezzzeee?"

SO, that kept me super busy today and I am *almost* completey wiped out. I have a little left in me, and after I put my child to bed, I plan on taking a long, luxurious bubble bath, shaving my legs (ALL the way up!) and I'm hoping to get around to my pits too, if I don't dull the blade on the yeti-hair. Maybe I'll do those first. European so isn't my style.

Hope your Saturday went swimmingly!

Per sotto, per farli combaciare

2007-03-09T21:18:00.000-05:00

I've got a busy day today, giving exams and actually working, so I may not be around much. But I just had to share something a friend sent me. Because we've talked about it in here before – carpeting.

"Per sotto, per farli combaciare," meaning: "For the hair down there... to make it match."

For those who want their carpet to match the curtains. And now, it can, safely, in your own home.

IS YOUR BETTY READY?

Perhaps my favorite color on this website is the "Funbetty". Their description:
"Hot pink means play. Adventure down below! Celebrate! The first safe color for the hair down there. Funbetty is a hot pink party in a box! Funbetty color for the hair down there. Go girl, it's your birthday! Or your anniversary or your wedding or his birthday! It's the perfect gift." I'm imagining a man's eyes when he unwraps his "gift" to find a hot pink rug staring him in the face. I must now try this out.

Yes, you too can have a hot pink cooch. Just be sure if you're going this route to trim your bush into some sort of really cool shape. If I were doing it, it'd be a hot pink star. Why a star, you ask? Because: My labia. Stunning. Enough said.

But fear not, there's something for everyone:

Brownbetty? "Brown downtown? Sunny, spontaneous and real. Finally, the first safe color for the hair down there. BROWNbetty says, go away, gray! Rise and shine!"

Blondebetty? "Are you a true blonde? Of course you are!"

Blackbetty? "Get back to black or rev up the action!"

Auburnbetty? "Are you a true blonde? Of course you are!"

Perhaps the best part of all this? They sell T-Shirts! I'm getting one. Because I'm not blonde, I will skip the "I'm a true BLONDE" one. But I'm so getting this one:

Guys – you can use this too! I'm thinking you could dye yours Funbetty hot pink for Easter. It could look like the plastic Easter basket grass. And she could go on an "egg hunt".

Note to Barb & Gary: This might infringe upon our salon idea, so we'll have to come up with a creative sculpting department – I'm thinking a snatch 3-D design studio. We'll need an artist. I think Swilly draws.

Enjoy your Friday everyone!

I Psycho

2007-03-08T21:14:00.000-05:00

I Live: because that's the agreement I have with Joey Fingers.

I Work: in a shithole

I Talk: a LOT of shit

I Wish:, I wish with all my heart to fly with dragons in a land apart.

I Enjoy: chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream

I Look: like ass most days

I Find: the strangest things in my drawers

I Smell: Enough said

I Hide: chocolate from the husband and kids

I Pray: when someone asks me to

I Walk: slowly because I have short legs

I Write: whatever pops into my pretty little head

I See: panty lines - everywhere

I Sing: my son lullabies every night

I Can: recite the names of all 50 states in alphabetical order

I Watch: my neighbors through the blinds sometimes. I'm usually naked when I do this.

I Yearn: to be closer to my Mom

I Daydream: about being closer to my Mom

I Want: it all. And I want it now.

I Cry: whenever they sing the national anthem at the Olympics, or at the first game of any sports season.

I Read: sometimes

I Love: being a mom

I Sometimes: throw a fit just to see if I'll get my way, not because I'm really mad

I Touch: myself

I Hurt: myself on accident all of the time.

I Fear: the reaper

I Hope: no one ever has to wipe my ass for me

I Break: dance in my dreams

I Eat: whatever I want and pay the price later

I Quit: college before I was finished because it bored me

I Bathe: when I want to shave my legs

I Drink: coffee like there's no tomorrow

I Stop: picking my nose when people come in the room I'm occupying

I Save: my tears in a jar. Just kidding. I save coupons, but never use them.

I Hug: my son several times every day

I am in: hell. And debt.

I Play: with myself often

I Miss: my mom. And old fashioned pop corn poppers where you used the oil and melted the butter in the top and it dripped down throught the holes.

I Hold: my boobs when I jump

I Forgive: the Electoral College

I Drive: my husband crazy

I Learn: about different sexual practices from the internet

I Have: to get my ass in gear

I Don't: know how to play pinochle

I Made: out with my husband the second day we knew each other, but not really the first.

I Kiss: no one's ass.

I Believe: that Wonder Woman could easily kick Cat Woman's ass in a fight.

I Wait: patiently, sometimes.

I Need: to buy more batteries

I Feel: my ass when I put on a new pair of pants for the first time.

I Know: very few truly GOOD people

I Wonder: if I'll ever meet any of you in person

I am: a fucking genius.

The lesbian within

2007-03-06T21:12:00.000-05:00

I've mentioned this before, but I think all women, regardless of sexual orientation, have an inner lesbian. Some women would never dare act on the whims of said lesbian. Others do daily. Some women won't even admit that they have one, but they do. They just are in denial or are too young to realize it yet. But, she's there. Trust me. Allow me to introduce you to mine, won't you?

Mine thinks that the most beautiful women in the world have auburn hair. She prefers the look of women with smaller, perky breasts. And they must be real.

She doesn't like women who are rail-thin. They need to be able to eat a full meal without exploding or whining that they are "so full" after having 1⁄2 cup of rice and some broccoli. And NO PURGING!

They must not obsess about their looks and they can't overdo the makeup. She also thinks the majority of women are actually more beautiful without a lot of makeup. Makeup should enhance one's natural beauty, not cover it with layers of plaster.

My inner lesbian is certain she could beat any man in a pussy licking contest, even though she's never tried it. She's naughty, catty, petty and inappropriately emotional at times. When I have an argument with a man, she's in my head telling me "Let it go, he's a man, what do you expect?" When he does everything right, she's surprised because, as a lesbian, she thinks men are generally wrong and icky and gross.

She's tough and strong and independent. She won't allow me to depend fully on any one person to make or break my life. She can fix anything if she puts her mind to it, and she won't be held back from growing and experiencing. But the bitch knows her place is inside of the heterosexual outer me. Because I heart dick – A LOT. And I'm not giving that up. Sorry inner lesbian – this life isn't for you.

She has shown glimpses of herself on several occasions, whether it be through sheer admiration of the female body, kissing another woman, or touching body parts and appreciating them. She makes me excited and horny when I watch porn – not because of the men in it, but the beauty and grace of the women involved. She thinks everyone could learn something about pleasing a woman from watching two of them please each other.

I love my inner lesbian because she's part of me. I'm not shy or embarrassed because of her – there is no reason to be. I'm proud of her, because she allows me to mentally explore avenues that my physical self may not be willing to explore. Hell, my inner lesbian probably likes anal sex and you all should know by now how I feel about that!

And here's a little secret for you: when I use the Venus Butterfly...I like to imagine that it's my inner lesbian's tongue.

I think my inner lesbian is happy not having to be in the limelight. She can just hang out and jump in whenever she feels like it. She enjoys doing things for shock value, even if the consequences of the action haven't been completely considered by hetero-me. And that makes life fun and interesting.

I think I should give her a name. Does anyone have a suggestion? I want to let her know that I appreciate all of the spice and variety she adds to my life. Because without her, things might be trite and boring. And I don't think I could continue to surprise anyone without her. And that, my friends, is unacceptable.

Having said all of that. I DO NOT think all men have an inner gay man. I think with guys you either are or you aren't. Sure, a straight guy can say another man is good looking (usually said with as much bravado as one can muster – and it usually sounds like a question when they say it: "I guess he's a good looking guy?"), but he would never fantasize about what it *might* be like with another man because that thought process alone would mean to him, and most men who knew about it, that he was full out gay.

Women have the luxury of the fantasy, the wonder, the exploration without the immediate "homosexual" label. We're so incredibly lucky for that! Men don't seem to have that luxury. Why do you think that is?

Camping out for Bon Jovi tickets, dude!

2007-03-05T21:11:00.000-05:00

When I was younger, there wasn't much I wouldn't do in order to see my favorite bands performing live. I remember getting to the local music store at 7 pm the night before tickets went on sale and spending all night in line waiting for the doors to open. I would have stripped naked and danced in a fountain if I thought it would have gotten me one row closer to Vince Neil or George Lynch.

It wasn't that the concerts would sell out. It wasn't even that I could get great seats (I never really did). It was the fact that I was under 18, and I was out all night with a group of friends, depriving ourselves of sleep. We'd take sleeping bags, bitch about how cold it was and down Jolt cola - anyone remember Jolt?? And it seemed that despite our best efforts, we never got floor seats.Or good seats for that matter. But we did usually get phone numbers of loser head-banger guys who were also waiting. Above all, we had a good time and could brag about how long we waited in line to be one of the first people to get tickets for Guns N Roses. Besides, we saw the BonJovi videos of fans waiting in line. Maybe another band will do that and we will be whisked away to be Brett Micheal's lover, if only for one night. Ah yes, that's why we REALLY did it! OK, maybe not the guys, but for the girls, oh yeah.

I've seen almost every 80's hair band there was to see because I couldn't get enough. Bon Jovi, Skid Row, Guns N Roses, Motley Crue, Warrant, Winger, House of Lords, Trixter, Whitesnake, Scorpions, VanHalen (both with Dave and then with Sammy), Metallica, Poison, Ratt, Dokken, Cinderella, Krokus and the list goes on and on.

I was front row for Skid Row and again for Winger at a little tavern in Milwaukee called "Billy's Old Mill". I learned quickly why that sucked as it was a small venue, everyone packed in and standing - no assigned seats. Everyone in the crown was trying to push forward, trying to get closer to the stage. So my boobs got smashed up against the stage. It was worse than a mammogram. At least with that, someone is touching your boobs.

I remember going to the music stores the day before the concerts and you could again stand in line for hours to have the band autograph something for you. They would allow you to snap a photo (but you couldn't be in it) and then they'd send you on your way so you could erroneously mislead people for the rest of your life saying "I met Skid Row! See my pictures?"

Things have changed so much that this simple kind of fun is no longer something that happens. No one waits all night for tickets to anything. They go there, get a voucher and go home to sleep in their nice warm beds, setting their alarm to get there an hour before the store opens to bicker about where their place in line should be according to the number on the voucher. Fuck that. If it's really something you want, spend the night dammit. Vouchers are for pussies.

So tell me, what (if anything) have you camped out for?

Special thanks

2007-03-04T21:09:00.000-05:00

I was searching for a way to thank some very special people for doing something that has touched my heart and I read my friend Lori's blog. I'm going to steal her hard work in collecting quotes, because it was so perfectly timed that it must have been meant for me to use.

So now, my very public thank you to people who sponsored me for the MS Walk. In just 4 days, I've raised almost $1,000, half of which came from people I have never met face to face - people on MySpace. I also got 2 people to come out and walk with me becuase of asking you to help. I am speechless and truly touched and at times have been moved to tears. SO, without further adieu, thank you to some very special people (in no particular order):

Cranky Ricky Sara

One can pay back the loan of gold, but one dies forever in debt to those who are kind. ~Malayan Proverb

It's Jim! Nora

Unselfish and noble actions are the most radiant pages in the biography of souls. ~David Thomas

Barb Mallon Eric

Not what we give,
But what we share,
For the gift
without the giver
Is bare.
~James Russell Lowell

Secret Diary Tina
of a Woman

I can no other answer make, but, thanks, and thanks. ~William Shakespeare

Corey Lynne Kat

The only people with whom you should try to get even are those who have helped you. ~John E. Southard

Shannon Socrates, Part Deux

I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought, and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder. ~G.K. Chesterton

Juddy OK, Now What

Gratitude is the memory of the heart. ~Jean Baptiste Massieu

MistressDestiny CleanRaceGirl

How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a weary world.
~William Shakespeare

MistyJo RequiemofDreams

Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see. ~Mark Twain

Wolfspirit Mark

How beautiful a day can be
When kindness touches it!
~George Elliston

Falco M

We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. ~Thornton Wilder

Dianna Brad Martha

Something that has always puzzled me all my life is why, when I am in special need of help, the good deed is usually done by somebody on whom I have no claim. ~William Feather

And my MySpace walking team thus far:

Jerry Katie Kristin

="">I would thank you from the bottom of my heart, but for you my heart has no bottom. ~Author Unknown

See what they've helped me do. It's not too late if you'd like to contribute.

Girlie Stuff

2007-03-03T21:09:00.000-05:00

So today, I participated in the time-honored tradition of women everywhere - I went to one of those home sales parties. Now, I don't necessarily dislike these things, after all, I'm a home sales consultant for a company whose name I am NOT allowed to mention on the internet, other than email or they will dismember me. No wait, disbar me. No, that's not it either. Deactivate me. Yeah that's it! Let's just say it involves food and if anyone wants to try it, I'm having an open house tasting party on March 17 at 2 pm and you're invited. And you should plan on making a purchase or you're not getting out alive. After all, I'm feeding you, it's the least you can do. Anyhow...

Today, I experienced a jewelry party. Ahhhh yes. Costume jewelry, most of which I wouldn't wear unless I was 80 years old and headed to the local BINGO parlor to try and land me a man. Allow me to recap the festivities because I want you to experience second hand the horror that is a home party for something you're less than enthusiastic about. First, allow me to preface this story with the fact that if I was into wearing jewelry, I would probably have had a hard time narrowing down what it was I wanted to buy. I own very little jewelry. In general, jewelry I wear must be 1) real and 2) expensive. It's even better if you combine those two.

So, we arrive at the party late, which is fine as these things rarely start on time. The hostess had quite the food spread out for her guests. Ply them with munchies and lull them into a false sense of comfort and you'll get the sales so you can get a bunch of free shit. This is what we do to our friends. So, we eat, chit chat and move into the living room. The consultant instructs us all to grab a piece of jewelry off of the display that we think was the biggest seller last month and put it on. We had to wear it throughout the whole party. SO, figuring if you were right you got to keep it, I checked out the goods and found something I wouldn't mind owning and put it on. It was a necklace with a magnetic latch. It took me 20 minutes to figure out that it was magnetic. I wore it as a headband.

I noticed when looking around the room that I was surrounded by very large breasted women. And here I was in my little A-Cup gel bra, hoping no one would ask me to try on a dangly necklace because it would look nice against my shirt. They didn't, I was spared.

Then, the games began. There was the "say who you are and if you had to leave the house quickly, what one piece of jewelry would you take with you and your wedding ring doesn't count." I picked earrings. I only own a couple of pairs of earrings and I like it that way. Each holds some sort of special memory to me. She then read what your choice says about you. Apparently, I'm trustworthy, hard working and dependable and I want people to look at me when I talk. Later, I tried to change my mind because I wanted to be the fun-loving, home centered patriotic girl who had to have her necklace. The bitch said it was too late. TOO LATE?!?! Even if my house is burning down, if I feel that strongly about it, I'm going back for the necklace.

Next was a purse game. The seller would call out a letter and you had to dig through your purse and find something that started with the called letter. First letter "I". I reached my hand into my purse, pulled it out, held it high and yelled "INHALER!" I win! I got a fake $100 bill. As she's getting ready to call the next letter, I look at the lady next to me and say "I hope she calls an S". I had my hand on a package of Sudafed that was in my purse. The seller says "S!" "SUDAFED!" The groans started. Lynn looked at me and asked if I had a pharmacy in my purse. I told her "no, but if she calls T, I've got a roll of Tums in here. OH! And an A, I have analgesic cream." "J" she calls. J?? Who has a J in their purse? Everyone is looking, no one is talking. And then I spy it. At the bottom of my bag, a lone earring that has not had a match for at least 2 years, yet every time I change bags, it finds it's way in there, hoping to find a mate some day, I'm certain. "JEWELRY!" And now, I have 3 fake $100 bills and people are snarling at me. I won a little eye shadow compact. I actually got to choose something from her "makeover bag" but she obviously only buys lipstick for blondes, and I really didn't want an eyelash curler.

We finish up the presentation and I have found something I would actually wear. I picked out a ring. And now, I have to wait my turn to "check out". "Do you want to have a jewelry party in your home?" she asks me. I looked at her with sympathy. THIS is the worst part of these parties for the seller. You KNOW if the person wanted to have a party for you, they would have marked "YES!" on the order form. But you ask anyhow, waiting for that inevitable "no, not right now. Sorry." Of course, I said no. She smiled and thanked me and I made my way back over to the mini chocolate chip cookies. My friends check out and we leave.

All in all, we survived unscathed, none of us choosing to have a party in our own homes. We suck that way. We'll come in, we'll eat your food, we'll even buy something from your party. Just don't ask us to do it again. That's how we roll.

Love horses but don't LOVE horses

2007-03-02T21:08:00.000-05:00

For centuries, people have been having sex with animals. The term "zoophilia" (from the Greek for "animal lover") simply means a love of animals. Not all zoophiliacs have sex with animals. That's left to the zoosexuals, who participate in bestiality. Incidentally, if a zoosexual has sex with animals and a homosexual has sex with homos, does that mean that a metrosexual has sex with the metro? Just curious.

This is not a relatively new concept, prehistoric man probably did it and it was a widespread practice almost everywhere, sometimes as part of a religious ritual. Being sentenced to forcible sex by dogs and horses as a method of torturous punishment or execution also occurred in the Far East. Imagine that – just for a minute. Go ahead and picture yourself being violated by a Clydesdale. Got it? Are you turned on or is that a great deterrent to crime? Let's bring that practice back and reserve it for rapists and pedophiles. I'm all for it!

Having said that, I'm here to deliver a stern warning to all of you animal "lovers" out there. There is an outbreak of equine herpes running rampant through the state of Virginia. I would encourage everyone to take the proper precautions, as I'm CERTAIN this is not just a local Virginia thing. There have also been recent reported epidemics of the equine herpes virus in Ohio, Florida and who knows where else. Horses are NOT big on safe sex and with this outbreak, it's obvious that they're not big on monogamy either.

Part of the problem is that condom makers are not making condoms large enough to fit on a horse. Might I suggest the use of a Hefty garbage bag. If you buy generic, double bag it – you know how those damn thing bags always tend to break when you put a lot of junk in them.

The other side of that equation, human men tend to think of condoms solely as a way to prevent unwanted pregnancy. So guys, if you're going to ride the pony, wrap it up! You don't want to have to explain open sores on your pecker to the next woman you're trying to cozy up to.

And if you're thinking of fellating a horse, I have four things to say to you:

1. GROSS!
2.You must have a very large mouth
3.Cold sores are a form of herpes, so be prepared to come up with a cover story if you contract the virus
4.Carmex is a medical marvel in battling cold sores, but it is high addictive.

And now that you're all completely disgusted with me, allow me to offer you something to take your mind off of this terrible news. http://www.beseechfanclub.com/bored/

Just go see it. It's for all of you zoophiles (not zoosexuals) out there. Sort of.

Everyone have a safe weekend.

This will help me feel better

2007-03-01T21:07:00.000-05:00

I had such a bad experience with that last blog that I want to delete it. Or just make it go away. But, I won't because it was a learning experience. So instead, I'll do one that works right the FIRST time I post it. And so, my second blog of the day will be "What's Going On Here, Part II". You remember this game, right? I give you odd pictures, you give me captions. I'm only going to do 5. So, here we go:

Survey Says! Polls Suck

2007-03-01T21:06:00.000-05:00

I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to say to my child when the big question finally comes out of his mouth. No, not "Why don't you have pillows like all of the other mommies?" I already have the answer for that one. I'm talking about "Mommy, where do babies come from?" So, I've compiled a short list of answers I might give him. Help me out and vote for your favorite, then read on!

OK, so I had a poll in here and everytime I tried to look at it or something, it screwed it all up. So, I'll just do it the old fashioned way:

WHERE DO BABIES COME FROM?

A. The stork leaves them on the front porch

B. They are a by-product of screwing without birth control

C. Testtube

D. You buy them at the hospital

E. You buy them off the back of a truck

F. Sperm & Eggs, duh!

G. Yo' Momma!

I read that simple is easiest and not to give too much information, unless he asks more questions. I've consulted some experts on what to say and didn't much care for their answer. What the experts say: Children don't want all the details. "A mother's egg and a father's sperm come together and make a baby that grows in a special place called the womb or uterus" is a simple answer to "How are babies made?"

Is it just me, or does that seem like it's setting yourself up for much more difficult questions like:

"How does the sperm get in there?"

"How does the baby get out?"

"What kind of tools do the sperm and egg use when making a baby?"

"Does someone have to stir the batter?"

"Can I see the womb?"

"Can you buy sperm at the grocery store? Is it next to the eggs?"

"There are eggs in the fridge. Are you making another baby?"

Of course, this would also be very confusing when trying to get your child to actually eat eggs: "I don't want to eat my brother!"

I've told my son he used to live in my tummy. That blows his mind. He has questions about that. Things like:

"Did I climb out?"

"Did someone pull me out?"

"Was I stuck?"

"Why did you put me in there?"

"Can I get back inside your tummy?"

"Were there animals in there?"

"Did I have a flashlight?"

So you see now why it's important to me that I get this answer right the first time. He's got quite the imagination. I don't want to screw this up.

Tomorrow's blog: Why you shouldn't have sex with horses, at least not in Virginia. Tune in then. It'll be a thought-inspiring work of art.

The Disease known as "MySpace"

2007-02-28T21:04:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-27T21:02:00.000-05:00

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.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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

2007-02-26T21:01:00.000-05:00

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?

2007-02-25T20:59:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-22T20:55:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-21T20:54:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-20T20:52:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-02-18T20:51:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-17T20:49:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-02-16T20:48:00.000-05:00

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?

2007-02-15T20:47:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-14T20:45:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-13T20:37:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-12T15:32:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-10T15:31:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-10T15:30:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-02-09T15:29:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-08T15:28:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-02-07T15:27:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-06T15:24:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-05T15:21:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-02-04T15:19:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-03T15:17:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-02T12:53:00.000-05:00

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?

I don't do conventional game shows

2007-02-02T12:52:00.000-05:00

Do you remember the $25,000 Pyramid show (or $50,000 Pyramid, or the $100,000 Pyramid or just plain old Pyramid)? You know, the big grand finale round where the clue giver tries desperately to get the guesser to guess what the topic is? And usually, the topic was something totally gay like "Things a dog might say".

I was thinking how if I were ever on that show, it would not go well.

There I would be, sitting up there with Sam Elliott (be still my beating heart) and Dick Clark (or Donny Osmond) would ask if I'd like to give or receive. Now normally, that would be an easy choice, because on any given day, if I had to pick one or the other, I would choose to receive. I may be a selfish bitch, but at least I own up to it.    But in this case, would I be too mesmerized by the sound of his voice to really think through what he was saying? Would everything he says just be sexual innuendo to me? Would I have an orgasm right there in front of everyone? So much to think about! Still, I think I would receive. Here's how it plays out in my head:

Sam: Screw

Me: Things I want to do to you?

Sam:   Hammer

Me: Things I want you to do to me?

Sam (with a sense of urgency as time ticks down):
    Socket
    Screw
    Nail
    Hammer!

Me: Things you shout at the moment of orgasm?

Sam: (obviously irritated with me):
    Screw driver
    WD-40

Me: Oh Christ – things in a tool box.

And I'd win a whopping $150.

So, as you can see, I would not be a candidate for Pyramid. In fact, I am not a candidate for any game show really. At least nothing that would be shown on network television. Maybe late night cable.

Maybe they can do an X-rated version of Pyramid. The stars would be people like Ron Jeremy or Jenna Jameson. It would go something like this:

Ron: Don't leave a wet spot on me
          I squeak a lot when you do that

Me:   Things a mattress would say

*DING*

Ron   I'm coming in
      You feel tight & wet
          Has Ron Jeremy ever been in here?

Me: Things a dick might say to a pussy

*DING*

Ron: YOU NEED MORE LUBE!

Me: Things your asshole might yell

*DING*

Ron:    A tongue
            A dick
            Your lover's fingers after they've been in your snatch

Me: Things that go in your mouth

*DING*

Ron: Gene Simmons' tongue
Pam Anderson's tits
My dick

Me: Things that are huge!

*DING*

Ron: A parent
        A sibling
        An animal
        Me, without a condom

Me: Things that you shouldn't fuck!!!

And just like that, I would win the jackpot.

Yeah, I'd be good at that one. I think most of you would be too.

Sing it Lionel! (s) little brother.

2007-01-30T13:31:00.000-05:00

There have been a flurry of emails asking what's going on with me. I thought instead of replying to each of the inquirers, I would make a public announcement. Jerry & I are good as gold. I am just fine. Peachy, even. I've had some sort of epiphany in the last day or so and I will no longer be serving as anyone's whipping post. I know, I know, you were all so patiently waiting for your turn to smack me around, but now, it's all about me. It's Psycho time! I even restarted my MS meds after a 4 month hiatus. Enough said. Moving on –

I need some dream analysis please! I'm really excited about this dream because I think it means something. I mean I KNOW there's some special meaning behind it. And I'm so excited about it, that I'm going to talk about it like a teenage cheerleader, and just keep on gushing. Good luck following it! Here goes:

I dreamed (is it really dreamed or is it dreamt?) I really screwed up my hair color and cut by trying to do it all at home. SO, I made an appointment to get my hair fixed. In my dream, I lived in Wisconsin, BUT the roads were named after Virginia roads (i.e., 64 West). So anyway, I'm on my way to get my hair done and I think my appointment is at 1:45. I notice it's 1:30 and I suddenly have no idea how to get where I want to go. So, I call my sister. She tells me to get on 64 West. She gives me the exit number and tells me that I'll know I'm close, because I'll hear the music.

SO, I get off (no, not THAT kind of getting off – that happens MUCH later) at the correct exit. I hear loud music, and I pull in and walk in the front door of a little building sitting on a corner. It's like a duplex (you know, one family lives up and another lives down) but the downstairs has a big glass front. So, I go in and sitting on the couch are The Commodores. Complete with the giant afros and bell bottom polyester jump suits. And they're singing "Brick House", but it's not Lionel singing. It's some kid – who is about 7. Lionel was sitting on the couch just smiling. Then, I see the lady who owns the salon and I look at my watch, expecting to see that I'm really, really late and fretting over the fact that they salon charges you $11 (why $11? Hell if I know!) for a missed appointment. But my watch says it's only 1:15 and since my appointment is at 1:45, I'm actually early. Even though earlier in my dream it was 1:30. Are you following this? Salon owner says, "I don't care when you get here, let's go!"

So, I follow her into the basement where there are a bunch of people sitting around, staring at a blank TV. The salon owner says "My sister will do your hair" and then turns on a movie which is Pulp Fiction. And the whole group of women starts having oral sex with each other.

Her sister takes me by the hand up this really skinny stairwell into the salon, pushes me down into a chair (hands on my boobs, mind you) and asks me what I want her to do to me. And I'm trying to tell her what's wrong with my hair. She's looking and says she doesn't see anything wrong with it at all, but she'd be happy to service my other areas. And she kept touching all my goodies. And I'm trying to tell her what color I want my hair to be, ignoring the fact that she's feeling me up – almost like I expected her to do that and it just isn't doing it for me. And she just says she can't understand what's wrong with my hair the way it is. And I yell at her "If you would take your hand out of my twat you would KNOW what my problem is!"

And then MY sister walks in and sits down with her perfectly perfect hair. The woman looks at her and says "You on the other hand – you need a lot of help." And as I sat there wondering why she wouldn't do my damn hair, I hear the Commodores start singing "Sail On", so I got up and started singing along with them at the top of my lungs, left $11 on the counter for my missed appointment and walked out the door smiling.

What do you think that was about? Being that I'm in love with music and lyrics, I'm sharing the lyrics to Sail On. I just KNOW it means something. What do you think?

Sail on, down the line
about half a mile or so
And I don't really wanna know
where you're going
Maybe once or twice you see
Time after time I tried
To hold on to what we got
But now you're going
And I don't mind
About the things you're gonna say
I gave all my money and my time
I know it's a shame
But I'm giving you back your name
Guess I'll be on my way
I won't be back to stay
I guess I'll move along
I'm looking for a good time
Sail on down the line
Ain't it funny how the time can go
All my friends say they told me so
But it doesn't matter
It was plain to see
That a small town boy like me
Just I wasn't your cup of tea
I was wishful thinking
I gave you my heart
And I tried to make you happy
And you gave me nothing in return
You know it ain't so hard to say
Would you please just go away
I've thrown away the blues
I'm tired of being used
I want everyone to know
I'm looking for a good time

Which brings me to the question of the day: Would you let your hair dresser feel you up?

Some French Guy wants to know

2007-01-29T13:31:00.000-05:00

WOW! (not WoW - I'm done with that). After the excitement of my last blog, and the shitty start to my Monday, I'm going to go with something mundane that no one can really argue about. And if you try, I might just bitch slap you.

Jerry & I enjoy watching "Inside the Actor's Studio" which is a really cool show. If you've never watched it but have an itch to get the inside scoop on some of your favorite actors (not gossip) check it out.

Anyhow, at the end, the actors are asked a series of questions. I am going to answer those questions for you, and in return, I'd LOVE for you to do the same. And THAT will be my blog. Tomorrow, we'll have an in-depth discussion about housework and what your spouse does/doesn't do, because your drama keeps me going. Just kidding!

Let's get to the questions, shall we?

What is your favorite word?

I like to hear the word "YES". However is it my favorite? Not at all! I think my favorite would be possibility. Why you ask? Because, the absolutes are the boring piece of life. It's the possibilities that make life worth living.

What is your least favorite word?

Beastiality. It's just a nasty word with nasty connotations.

What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

People who have a genuine heart. People who make me laugh. People who think about their affects of their words/actions on others before acting.

What turns you off?

People who are out solely for their own happiness. You need to give a little to get a little.

What is your favorite curse word?

Cocksucker. It's just fun to say. Try it with me: COCKSUCKER. Say it really fast, say it as two very distinct and separate words. Try putting the emphasis first on the word COCK. Then put it on SUCK. Now, put it on ER. See how different it sounds? You can customize it according to the right situation.

What sound or noise do you love?

My son's laughter – especially when he's over tired. OH! And Sam Elliot's voice. MMMM...Sam's voice...

What sound or noise do you hate?

A jackhammer & the opening to Law & Order.

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

I think I would like to be a criminal profiler. I like that kind of shit. I find it fascinating and if it wasn't for the blood part of it, I'd be right there doing it. I don't do blood. Unless it's menstrual, and even then, it bothers me to some extent.

What profession would you not like to do?

I would not want to be a politician because eventually, even the people you used to please will hate you. Plus, I don't think I can call people cocksuckers and still maintain a decent approval rating.

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

"You did good, kid. Oh, and one more thing – you were right - it really didn't matter."

Warcrack is invading my peaceful home!

2007-01-28T13:30:00.000-05:00

Ever since having a baby, I use phrases differently than I used to. Perhaps none more so then "I think I just peed a little." Please know that if I tell you that, I truly have pissed in my pants. I can't help it. Things just haven't been the same since the birth day. Speaking of birthdays, mine is coming up. I would like cold hard cash please - I'm saving for a trip to Wisconsin where I can hopefully meet up with a couple of people I met on here, even if it's just for a quick beer or, if I'm there for Summerfest, a good band. We shall see what happens!

Now, on to my topic of the day - the addiction that is taking over my home, and making me think that there MUST be professional help out there. NO, the addiction is not MySpace. That is one that is more formed out of necessity. Meaning it's necessary for me to come here and communicate with people who aren't in danger of overdosing on fantasy.

Yes, I'm talking about World of Warcraft. This apparently addicting game has taken over my home, my husband and my step son. Jerry is 34. Dakota is 12. This little addiction has taken over their lives and has taken hundreds of dollars from our wallets, sent them across the internet to some pusher and returned to them in the form of "gold" for the game. Not real gold, mind you, like a nice chain for my collection, rings or earrings. PRETEND GOLD PEOPLE! Not even stuff you can hold on to! And what do you do with this gold? Why you SPEND IT in the GAME REALM on shit that no one in their right mind needs. Broad swords, healing potions, magic items, rods, staffs, vibrators and...Vibrators? I didn't mean that. Obviously, my mind was somewhere else, what with all of the talk of rods and staffs.

Now, because the selling of gold isn't enough for these pushers, they recently released some new add on pack for their "game". Something about "Your wife's eyes burning a hole through your head." If I had any programming know-how, I would write a scenario for this, and when you installed it, it would melt your computer, then reached out and slapped the shit out of you, thanked you for spending your child's college tuition on it and told you to tune back in to the real world. How is that for intervention?

Allow me to bring you into my world by sharing with you they typical layout of a Friday or Saturday night.

Josh has gone to bed. Jerry is on the couch to the left of me. Dakota, in the playroom to my right, where they can talk to each other regarding their game, always loud enough to interfere with my ability to follow the events of whatever show I'm attempting to watch. And for some reason, they MUST converse with each other. J is for Jerry, D is for Dakota, M will be for ME. C is for cookie - that's good enough for me.

D: Dad! There's a level 60 Orc Warrior in the Blasted Lands. I need greater mana potions!

J: Not now son, I'm battling a level 55 undead shaman in Booty Bay. And after that, I need to go to Stormwind and turn in these quests.

M: Can you both just shut the hell up for 5 minutes? Gibbs just said something to Tony and now I have to rewind it.

J: Watch your language, Kim. OH! OH!! HOLY SHIT! Dakota!! Blah blah blah broadsword, blah blah blah, Horde, blah blah blah level 63. HOLY SHIT!

D: Oh man Dad! Where are you? I'm headed over there. I've got to see this.

J: You'll never make it on time.

At this time, Dakota walks into th room and sits next to Jerry to WATCH him play this game on his computer. Now there's some father-son bonding.

There's lots of talk about mana, virtue, staffs, swords and the like. I think it is much easier to understand my 3 year old tell me bout Go Diego Go, using a combination of kid-speak, English, Spanish and his made up language where EVERYTHING ends in the sound "UH".

AND I COULD CARE LESS! I HATE THIS FUCKING GAME. Morning till night, they play. It's been dubbed World of WarCrack, and I see why. Something does not allow them to turn off the game and walk away. I could say "Honey! The kitchen is on fire!" He'd say "I'll get there as soon as I can. I'm fighting Yeti's in WinterSpring. If I walk away now, I'll die." SO, what to do? Do I allow him to learn the ultimate lesson that if he doesn't walk away now, HE is literally going to die when the real fire in the kitchen spreads? What to do, what to do?

I go to bed alone every night and wake up to pee around midnight most nights - still alone. At least I have plenty of uninterrupted time for Jack & Venus. But it's sad. He blames it on the meds. I think it's the craft. I fully expect one day to wake up with Josh at 6 and see them both sitting on the couch in the dark, their faces lit up by the light from the laptop screens. A mountain of empty food wrappers between them and soda bottles filled to the top with piss because they were on some fantastical quest that would not end and simply could not just walk away. Apparently you don't do that. Because the fate of the world rests upon your shoulders.

You know, come to think of it, it reminds me of how some people pour everything they have into following politics. Think of the Horde as the Republicans and the Alliance as the Democrats. And somehow, W has achieved the status of Level 70, Undead Shaman. Who will save us now? Will it be Hillary, perhaps as a level 70 Knight Elf Priest? You never can tell.

As for me, I'll stick with MySpace and interacting in a realistic world (sort of) with realistic people (sort of) for free. I've spent nothing but time and the best part?? I can shut it off without finishing whatever it is that...

Psycho Has a Dream!

2007-01-27T13:28:00.000-05:00

**JEOPARDY RULES BLOG. PLEASE STATE YOUR COMMENT IN THE FORM OF "I HAVE A DREAM..."

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of my creed: "Three orgasms a day for all women."

I have a dream that one day on the red states and the blue states will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood and all will become purple states with a beautiful mingling of ideas that everyone can get behind – and the right wing bible thumpers will stay out of politics and go somewhere to meet the mother ship or drink koolaid poisoned by their leaders.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Florida, a state sweltering with the heat of retirees, sweltering with the heat of tourism & co-eds on spring break, will be transformed into an oasis of normal people just wanting to get some sun and eat oranges.

I have a dream that my son will one day live in a nation where he will not be judged by the color of his skin, sexual orientation, religious or political beliefs, but by how well he can bring home the bacon & fry it up in a pan.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, our government will worry more about it's own citizens and be sure that they are cared for before they go sticking their noses in other people's business. And that this same government will stay out of my uterus and allow potential disease curing research to actually take place on our own soil.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, so that lazy fuckers like me can walk on a straight, flat path wherever they need to go. Especially if they want the cheaper parking downtown (at the bottom of the giant hill) but don't want to be panting with their clothes dripping with sweat like they just had marathon sex by the time they get to work.

Yes, I dream big - so what! What's your dream? **JEOPARDY RULES BLOG. PLEASE STATE YOUR COMMENT IN THE FORM OF "I HAVE A DREAM..."

Global Stupidity

2007-01-26T13:29:00.000-05:00

My tolerance for stupid people has decreased over the years. At one point, I could listen to an idiot, nod and smile and move on. I have noticed I can no longer do such a thing. Now, when someone says something stupid, I am no longer content with nodding and smiling. I just have to say something. Had I developed this intolerance immediately after college, I would blame it on education. However, it wasn't until a couple of years ago that I really began letting loose the thoughts in my head when someone would say something that was so ridiculous that even a chimp would throw fecal matter at the speaker. The kind of stupidity that I find most infuriating is intolerance of other's beliefs. Those who assume that their thoughts and opinions are the only right ones and everyone who disagrees with them are stupid and just plain wrong. You know the type of person I'm talking about. They never fail to have volumes of otherwise useless information to support their side of things. Information that the normal person probably doesn't have. Information that is probably made up (i.e., bullshit).

I had an encounter with this type of individual yesterday. While there is no doubt that this guy has book smarts, complete with a PhD, he's still stupid when it comes to the difference between fact and opinion. Here's how it went down:

Out of nowhere yesterday, it starts snowing. ALOT. It's too warm for it to stick for very long, but it was really coming down. He goes off on a tirade about "Look everyone! Al Gore fixed global warming!" Did I mention he's a Republican who professes that everything not 100% supported by the Republican party is wrong? He launched into facts, figures, his "proof" that global warming either doesn't exist or is overly exaggerated to cause mass hysteria and further anti-republican political agendas. I've heard this from him before, so I tuned it out. Moments later, he walks into my office and says "Did you hear what I said about global warming?" And starts giggling. I looked at him and stated simply, yet in a bitchy tone, that he shouldn't be so quick to belittle other people's beliefs. He tried to defend himself and I cut him off and said "Yes, I know you think global warming doesn't exist but it's not your place to make fun of others who do, especially when polar bears are dying due to shrinking polar pack ice." Or something along those lines. His well educated answer? "Fuck the polar bears." And he left my office. You should know that of all the animals on this earth today, polar bears are my most favorite. HOWEVER, I took the high road and let it go. Some people are just so convinced that they are right and that their beliefs are absolute facts that it's not worth the time it takes to argue with them.

So this morning, I said good morning to him. He says "What? No snide remark?" My answer: "It's early. Give it an hour." Then, I muttered "Cock". And even though he probably didn't hear it, I felt a pleasant calmness wash over me. I didn't bother saying it loud and clear because, after all it is just my opinion. Although I'm certain I could get others to agree with me. I might even be able to offer some bullshit of my own one day to support my supposition. If not, that's ok. It's my opinion. And I don't need anyone to agree with it to know I'm right. I'm such a cock.

I'm certain I'm not the only person who has to deal with these types of people daily. There is an epidemic in the world we need to address: Global Stupidity. It's one of the many things I'm going to try to get government money to study. Once we understand fully how it spreads, we can work on ways to stop it.

What you talkin' 'bout Willis?

2007-01-25T13:26:00.000-05:00

I spend a lot of time listening to music. I don't give a hoot what type of music I'm listening to, just so long as I can understand the words and the song makes sense as a whole. My mind is like a vault when it comes to song lyrics. I may not always know who sang a song, but if I've ever listened to it and enjoyed it, even just a little bit, you can bet your sweet ass I know the lyrics to it. Inevitably, there will come a song that you just can't figure out the lyrics to. These days, you can just hit the internet and find out what they are. However, being the trooper that I am, that is my absolute last resort. I will listen to it over and over and over again, trying to figure out just what the person is saying. Often times, I think I know it. Then I sing it in front of someone and they laugh. Not at my hideous voice, but my obvious error in interpreting what the vocalist was saying.

Some of the more popular examples that I know of seem to be universal:

CCR: There's a bathroom on the right

Hendrix: Excuse me while I kiss this guy

Manfred Mann: Wrapped up like a douche

There are literally thousands of these. I have a few that I've misheard and was convinced that I was right at the time. I thought it would be fun to share them.

1) I've talked about this before: "Hollaback Girl". The first time I heard this song, Gwen sang it live on SNL. I looked at my husband and started laughing. He asked what was so funny. I said "Well honey, she's singing 'I ain't no Harlem black girl'. Don't you think that's funny?

2) From Brown Eyed Girl: "Going down on the old man with a transistor radio"

3) From Winter Wonderland: "Later on, we'll perspire as we dream by the fire"

4) More CCR: Doo, doo, doo, poopin' out my back door.

Incidentally, this love of music has helped me make up hundreds of alternate songs on the fly. There's nothing funnier than making up words as you go along. For example, when I became a mom and wanted to sing my son "Hush Little Baby", I wasn't sure how the song went. So, long before he could talk, I made up my own version. What makes it even funnier is that I made it up as I sang it. No pausing, no stuttering, it just flowed. It goes a little something like this.

Hush little baby don't say a word
Mamma's gonna buy you a mocking bird
If that mocking bird don't sing
Mamma's gonna buy you a diamond ring
And if that diamond ring turns brass
Mamma's gonna kick the jeweler's ass

And then, I laughed so hard, I couldn't continue. I looked up the words on the internet and the next time I sang it, I got a little bit closer…
Hush little baby don't say a word
Mamma's gonna buy you a mocking bird
If that mocking bird don't sing
Mamma's gonna buy you a diamond ringAnd if that diamond ring turns brass
Mamma's gonna buy you a looking glass
And if that looking glass gets broke
Mamma's gonna buy you a billy goat
And if that billy goat won't poop
Mamma's gonna buy you a basketball hoop

You should know that I've since learned all of the words and can sing it properly. But sometimes, I still sing it wrong on purpose. I think it's funnier if the billy goat won't poop. Maybe that's just me.

Your turn. What songs lyrics have YOU misheard or improvised?

Just some dialogue

2007-01-24T13:25:00.000-05:00

"Excuse me, have I seen you here before?"

"No. I'm new here. Still trying to learn the ins and outs. Got any helpful hints?"

"First and foremost, if you're coming in, you'll need to wear a coat."

"Why, is it cold in there?"

"Not at all. It's really for your own protection, as well as mine. Liability issues, you know? The walls and floor get wet. I used to not require coats, but one too many jerks threw up all over the place, even though they promised they would leave before they got to that point. It seems like I had to clean it every day for weeks after each one. Oh - make sure everything is secure too, I wouldn't want you to accidentally leave anything inside. After all, you might not make it back here again and I don't need a reminder of you."

"OK, so I've got a coat, what else do I need to know?"

"Don't use the back door. If you do, you're not getting in anywhere else. It's not that kind of place. It's for evacuation purposes only. I cannot stress that enough."

"Am I the only one here?"

"At the moment. Capacity is 1 – no plans to expand either. That's not to say a preferred member won't come by later, in which case, you'll need to leave immediately. You know these VIP types don't like anyone parking in their space."

"Anything else before I gain entry?"

"Don't get too relaxed. I don't like lazy guys hanging out here. And don't slouch – straight and tall or not at all! I want you to enjoy yourself while you're here. But, I need to enjoy myself too, or I won't have you over again."

"OK, I'm coming in. Wow! It's cozy in here."

"Well, don't get comfortable. You can't just stay in one spot, it doesn't work that way. Move around a bit. Find your favorite spot. Look around, touch whatever you like – nothing is really breakable. Oh! I see you don't need any more help. You seem to be fitting in just fine."

"The walls are moving – this is cool."

"Haven't you ever been in a place like this before?"

"No, this is my first time. It's more slippery in here than it was when I first got in here. Is that bad?"

"Don't be afraid, the room responds to your presence. You'll know if it doesn't like you here."

"It's getting cramped in here. I'm claustrophobic! I think I'm going – to – be – sick!"

"That's not from claustrophobia – it's from excitement! Just keep the mess in your coat – you can clean yourself up after you leave."

*BLECH!*

"Are you still here? Shouldn't you get cleaned up?"

"Yeah. Can I come back again sometime? I promise not to get sick again."

"Ha ha ha! They ALL get sick, I'm used to it – that's why I require the coat. But yes, you can come back again sometime. You fit in nicely. Maybe next time, you'll move to a different drum beat, learn a few new dance moves. Practice makes perfect."

Talking with a Friend

2007-01-23T13:24:00.000-05:00

Did you ever notice that when you have a best friend, you cannot have a normal conversation? Everything becomes funny and distorted, even just the simple statements take on a whole new meaning. I like those kind of friendships.

Back in the day (ok, it wasn't even a year ago, so shoot me!) Kristin (or whatever the hell YOU call her) and I worked in the same building, on the same floor. Opposite wings of the building, but we met together several times a day just to be idiots. When we both had to be in our offices, we spent time IM'ing each other. I have the entire history saved .

Here, I present to you some of our finest moments from the beginning of 2006. I call this piece "Scenes from a friendship."

We use the term "gay" to describe EVERYTHING:

Kim: I'm done with my gayness
Kim: for now....
Kris: well good.

My awesome wit:

Kris: my computer is acting funny
Kim: That's because it lost its acting coach....
Kim: I'm assuming it's supposed to be playing a dramatic role?

On the Bird Flu:

Kris: The children had reportedly tossed the chicken heads like balls inside their house in Dogubayazit, near the Iranian border. "They played with the heads for days," Sahin said.
Kris: up for a game of chickenheadball later?
Kim: ew ew ew!
Kris: so gross...
Kim: let that be a lesson to everyone
Kim: Bowling with chicken heads is NOT a sport...

How to talk nicely to your friends:

Kris: I'm on phone
Kim: I don't rightly care

When what you say isn't what you mean:

Kris: I'm starving
Kim: I'm hungry, but assure you that I am in NO danger of starvation
Kris: well, i didn't mean literally
Kim: oh, ok then

Being dirty:

Kim: what's that crazy bitch MK doing over there?
Kris: i don't know....what was the correct terminology regarding the taco?
Kim: bearded taco
Kim: vertical smile
Kris: that's a butt
Kim: If you have a yeast infection, it's a taco with sour cream
Kim: No, it's not the butt....smiles involve lips
Kris: gross
Kim: If you have gonorrhea, it's a bearded taco with guacamole...
Kim: heh
Kim: You're on the rag? Ahhh..you've got hot sauce on your taco
Kim: I got a million of 'em

On making new friends:

Kris: ah, we don't get hbo or showtime
Kim: that's because you're friends with Tibet...
Kris: correct
Kim: I, on the other hand, am friends with Guatemala
Kim: and you don't get to be friends with the big GTMA without premium channels

What friends will do for each other:

Kris: I think I'm going to barf
Kim: really?
Kim: can I watch?
Kris: sure
Kim: excellent...call me when you're going to hurl. I'll come hold your hair for you
Kris: thanks!
Kim: any time!

When your friends ignore you:

Kim: I've been waiting and waiting
Kim: yet, no invitation for coffee has come my way
Kim: *sigh*
Kris: huh, I was waiting for you
Kim: waiting for me to what...drop dead?

How to talk to authority figures:

Kris: he told me I could call him Jim
Kim: Yes, but can you preface it with "Jungle" or is that inappropriate?

I adore my friends. I consider many of you friends and hope to some day have strange conversations with you that will lead to this kind of foolishness. Just know that I save histories. I think it's really kind of funny to look back and see how you've changed, how your inside jokes evolved. And, it makes me smile to know that I'm not the only idiotic person in this world who acts so totally gay much of the time!

What kind of reminders do you keep around to remind you how fun your friends really are?

James & Sexual Ed

2007-01-22T13:23:00.000-05:00

A joke to start your Monday off right:

A Caucasian woman, an African American man and a Hispanic man walk into a bar.

WAIT! That's not a joke! That's the Democratic hopefuls. My bad!

THIS, is not a joke either. Just a guy who obviously is going to wind up with his passport & money stolen from his hotel room and need me to wire him some cash to get out of the mess he's in:

From: james
Subject: hi pretty
Body:
very hardly to find your profile,i really look around only your beauty and Only God's creations can compare to the beauty that I see in you! My cute for you is infinite, without limits.To chat with me lovely connecting to me james_4realy@yahoo.com may send your email.CUTE PLEASE NEVER MIND THE DISTANT BETWEEN ME AND YOU.WHAT I REALLY DO FOR A LIVING I AM A JEWELERY DESIGNER AND I JUST TRAVELING TO MANY COUNTRIES SO I HOPE I CAN CONTACT U AT ANY TIME CUTE....PLEASE IF YOU ARE INTERESTED REPLY TO ME...SEND ME YOUR YAHOO EMAIL ID.HAVE A NICE DAY...

His cute for me is infinite. I'm so fucking ecstatic! I think I'll print this out and tape it to my pillow so that when I'm ramming Jack home I can pretend that only my beauty and God's creations can compare to my beauty. Ummm...WHAT??? Can someone tell me what the fuck that whole email means? I'll worship whoever can translate that email for me. Moving on...

Boo Bears. Yay Colts. That's all.

I have a partial solution to solving the whole issue of kids having sex at such young ages. I say in those sex ed or health classes where they're talking about STD's and such, all girls should be given a vibrator and all boys a pussy in a can. And then, all the boys should have to watch episodes of I Love Lucy while the girls watch The Honeymooners. They should be informed that if they have sex with humans, they'll be destined to have to listen to something similar to Lucy or Ralph afterwards. If they use the toys, not only will they have orgasms, but if it's not pleasurable, they can hold the toy under hot running water and belittle it without fear of retribution or criminal charges.

Of course, if you're going that far, then Prom shouldn't occur either, because everyone knows that people go to prom just to get laid. No one really goes to dance. Except maybe the cheerleaders. They go to dance first and THEN get laid.

I also happen to think that you should be able to be reimbursed for sex toys on your flexible health reimbursement account or through insurance. After all, it's promoting good sexual health. Just think - it might reduce the number of Rx's being covered to treat an STD. Can we get a Democrat to get behind this?

I'm a fucking genius. And while I'm on the subject of realistic sex education, maybe there should be college courses on how to please a woman. It could be a whole slew of courses:

Kissing
Fingering Skills
Eating Pussy
Sex Toys
Talking Dirty
Foreplay
Advanced Foreplay
Sexual Positions 101
Sexual Positions 102
Making Love Vs. Fucking (and why all woman need both)

The list goes on. I'm sure that eventually, there could be courses on how to please a man such as:

Burgers, Fries and All That
How to Talk about Sports
How to Ignore his Obsession with RPG
Blow Jobs
You, Him and Another Woman
Anal Sex
How to Speak only When Spoken To

I KID!

What kinds of things do you wish your sex partners (past, present or future) should have received better education on before attempting to rock your world? Yes, I'm truly looking for your worst sex stories here.

Just Rambling On

2007-01-21T13:22:00.000-05:00

I still don't know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets
Every time I thought I'd got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I've never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I'm much too fast to take that test

--"Changes" by David Bowie

Change is inevitable. Times change, people change, relationships change, even I change. The things that once were important to me are no longer of any consequence in my life. Going out, drinking, smoking, staying up late, sleeping in every weekend – they all once seemed so important to me. But at the end of the day, I was empty and lost, needing so much more.

When I found Jerry, things started to change. I became a bit of a home body and my priorities switched from going out, having fun and drinking (an attempt to ease my unhappiness, no doubt) to spending time with the man I love.

Then came marriage and a child, and the majority of my remaining vices were replaced by being a mom, setting a good example, and doing my best to care for a child when I had no idea how to do so.

I'm getting older, we all do. While I feel I'm far from the "old" tag (I'm almost 36, not almost 76!), I think I've finally made it to the grown up phase of my life. My family is my priority, and even that is changing to some degree. No longer content to just have a home, I want to have a clean home and a nice home, and that's a losing battle for a number of reasons – the biggest being that I don't have the time.

Where I used to long to be surrounded by dogs when I had trouble getting pregnant and staying pregnant, I find that the 3 we have are more of a nuisance at times. Don't get me wrong, I love them all dearly and wish nothing bad on any of them, but they irritate me, and I wish that we only had one. The tumbleweeds composed of dog hair & dander that blow across the kitchen an hour after I sweep and mop seem to cement the notion that one would be enough.

The weekends that I used to look forward to have become weekends that I don't enjoy. They aren't filled with rest and fun. There's housework, laundry, grocery shopping that all need to be done, as well as the little things that fall through the cracks during the week because I'm too tired to get to them.

Becoming a mom has filled my life with both happiness I never knew existed and an endless parade of must-do's and responsibilities.

Friendships have fallen by the wayside, because all I have the energy to do is sit on the couch after Josh goes to bed and hang out on MySpace. If I didn't have MySpace, I'd probably be in bed by 9:00 every night.

And all in all, I've managed to find the happiness in this mess called "life". I can't imagine a day without having to be a mom. No outfit would be complete without the dog hair, and besides the house would feel empty and quiet without them.

I certainly don't regret one bit of my life, other than the fact that I spent so much time and money smoking. But that has changed too. (I didn't say the changes were bad.)

I think the hardest part for me is not being able to do it all exactly the way I want to, or had planned to for that matter. I dislike not having control over so many aspects of my life, but at the same time, what a boring life it would be if everything went exactly as planned with no surprises.

Outside of MySpace and my close circle of friends, I'm a fairly private person. (What?!?!?) No, really, it's true! I don't share every piece of my life with everyone who crosses my path.

People ask me if I'm thinking of another baby. Sure I am. Can't have one, but I think about it all the time. It was a goal for the majority of my teenage years and early adulthood. Married, 2 kids – (hopefully a boy and a girl), stay at home mom, rich husband, custom built home. But, that pesky thing called life gets in the way.

My point in all of this? People need to stop plotting and planning and having their happiness rely on things going just the way they hope and plan. You have to find the happiness in how your life plays out, because things rarely go as planned. My happiness? I'm loved by 3 wonderful men: my husband, my son and my step son. And they love me in spite of the bad things, my crankiness and my neuroticism about certain issues. Are there things I'd like to change about my relationship with each of them? Obviously. BUT, if those things change, maybe we all wouldn't be as happy as we are now. Maybe we'd become one of those families that can't wait for the others to be gone so we could be happy. Maybe the life we've created would fall apart.

So what I'm saying is I'll take the way things are now over not having them at all or having them be everything I ever wanted them to be and wind up miserable and lonely.

Where do you find is your biggest source of happiness, even when things are going wrong?

Saturday Night Special

2007-01-20T13:21:00.000-05:00

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm OK. Thanks for asking. I was just caught up in life today, being a mom, cleaning house and staying busy.

BUT I wanted to pop in and give you all a formal thank you for playing with me yesterday! I was craving conversation, and I certainly got it ten-fold. It's good to have friends like you.

Because of Jerrys non-narcotic pain meds, I've been going to bed alone for the last couple weeks and have been alternating between Jack and Venus to keep me company. Tonight, I may actually break out the G-Spot vibe and see what that's all about. Will it get a name, or will it be tossed in the GoodWill box? Who knows! Has anyone ever donated a vibrator to the GoodWill? Would the veterans who pick up at my door be a better choice? I just don't know!

I still have one of those purple sparkly eggs in the package to give away if anyone wants one. (Remember, I accidentally got 3 free ones.) OH! And I've got a stack of Nicoderm CQ coupons for anyone looking to quit smoking. I get the 8 week supply free from work, so I don't need the coupons. First person to ask for 'em gets 'em. Maybe, just maybe I'll send that person the egg too! (You know you want it all Swilly!)

Anyhow, not much going on here. Just GO SAINTS tomorrow. The come back kids. What a great story that'll be if they go to the SuperBowl. I'd like to see the Colts actually make it, but am certain they will choke as always tomorrow.

I do usually have people over for Superbowl, so consider this a public invite for anyone who wants to come watch it. We usually open up with some Texas Hold'Em, so if you want to come play and watch, come on over. Well, most everyone is invited. There's probably a few people who will read this that can drop dead before I ever allow them into my home. You know who you are. If not, you'll find out when you get here or ask for directions. HA!

I have a real blog I'm working on for tomorrow. Hopefully, I'll get it up before noon, but no promises. It just depends on how much time my child is willing to allow me to myself in the AM. Today, it just wasn't happening. He's like a prison guard and you'd think I was trying to sneak a fork back to my cell. Geez!

OK, I'm off to finish watching Body of Evidence and read my book on criminal profiling. Fascinating shit, I tell ya. There was just a commercial for Valtrex on TV. There's a guy and a girl and he says, "I have genital herpes". And the girl says "And I don't." and he says "And we're trying to keep it that way." I sure as shit hope they're a couple in real life. Because after you go public with that little tidbit of info, you're not getting any new poon.

Is your labia stunning?

2007-01-18T13:18:00.000-05:00

**Disclaimer. Do not assume that I'm right about this (even though I am). Do not allow my words to give you bad feelings about your labia. I am not a medical professional, just a chick with a stunning labia.

First and foremost – how much time has to pass from my last smoke for me to claim that I'm a non-smoker? Day 3 is here. No problems, except I'm finding I need to relearn how to do certain things again. Like function after dinner without going out for a smoke. Or rushing to the car for that smoke after I drop Josh off. Again, it's not that I want a smoke, it's that I think it's what I should be doing. So, I'm taking suggestions for what to do when I find myself thinking "OK, this is when I used to go out for a smoke – what do I do now?" Indeed, this was the PERFECT time for me to quit.

I've been asked by several people, "how do I know if my labia are stunning?" First, you have to look at them, much like a jeweler looks at diamond. Cut, color, clarity, & carat weight. Your labia is JUST like a diamond – no two are exactly alike and they are certainly NOT equal. In each area, labia can be:
--> --> --> --> --> --> --> -->

H – Hideous

O – OK

V – Very Good or

S -Stunning

The goal is 4 S's people, which I have. Therefore, mine are designated as stunning. 3 S's and 1 V? Superb! All V's and O's – average. Anything less – not acceptable. Get labiaplasty now.

Let's look at the 4 areas that should be considered when rating your labia.

CUT

OK, when we talk about cut, we're really talking about the shape. They should be perfectly symmetrical. One side should not be flopping in the breeze while the other is all tucked into bed. That just doesn't work right. Have a look here. *Warning- These are pictures of labia before and after labiaplasty. If you don't want to see it up close and personal, don't look. And another caveat – the third photo from the bottom, I think she's got her period, so if that kind of thing makes you queasy, you'll want to skip over it.*

The labia on the left NEEDED fixing. There's no doubt about it. If yours looks like this, I'd advise you to start saving now.

COLOR

This will vary drastically, depending on your race. They should be roughly the same color as the skin surrounding them. On a Caucasian woman – probably a rosy-pink-peachy color. The edges may be a little darker than the center. The coloring should be consistent and also symmetrical. You wouldn't lay two pieces of carpet in a room that were different shades of the same color, would you? Of course not! You might do a darker border, but color matching is key to achieving the "stunning" tag for your labia. Now, there's probably not a lot you can do about the color of your labia. Not all women are created equal. There's nothing wrong with your labia if it's not perfectly colored – it's just not "stunning." Sorry, there's nothing I can do to help you. Genetics are a science and I am no scientist.

CLARITY

Here's where we're talking about texture. They should be fairly smooth, and appear as such. They should not look like chapped lips. You should be able to view a slight texture to them, but not see deep cracks or crevices. If you can't visualize most of your labia without moving them around or stretching them out, it's CLEAR that they are just not stunning.

CARAT

Here's where we're talking about size. Look again at the specimens on the left. They look like they've been stretched to the max – often only on one side. Notice on the right how they actually look like a set of lips? And not overly plumped, collagen enhanced lips either. They need to be noticeable, but should not be the first thing a person sees when looking at you naked.

In looking at those after pictures, NONE of those labia qualify as "stunning". There are some "great" ones, even some "superb" ones. But none are stunning. I'd show you what "stunning labia" look like, but that's a little too personal. Just know that mine take the best of what is shown on that page and THAT is what makes them stunning.

If I were to pick out perfect specimens for each of the 4 C's, it would go like this:

(When I say "7", I mean seventh from the top. All of these are the labia on the RIGHT)

Cut: 4, 7 & 15 are all S.

Color: 7 is S.

Clarity: Again, 7 is absolutely an S rating.

Carat: The only one that is an S is 13. Several others are V worthy, but I'm picking the best here.

Somewhere out there, someone can take the best qualities of those labia pictured and morph them to get a peek at what mine probably looks like. I don't need to see the picture, because all I need to do is sit on the floor with a hand mirror to see stunning labia. You, on the other hand, probably need to learn how to use Photoshop. Sorry, them's the breaks!

How does your labia stack up?

And on the 8th day, he created stem cells, you moron

2007-01-17T13:17:00.000-05:00

Well, day 1 without smokes went extremely well! I flew right through it and there were only a couple of times during the day when I normally would have lit up that I was at a lost for what to do. It wasn't that I wanted a smoke, it was just that I didn't know what else to do. So, I cleaned my kitchen! Day 2 is just as easy, so far. I left the patch on all night - no bad dreams and I slept good. SO, until it starts bothering me, it'll stay on all night long. I'm not even crabby or cranky, not more than my usual anyhow. I wonder when that is going to kick in? This has been too easy so far. MUCH too easy. Something bad is going to happen, isn't it?

So, I'm going to write about something I think about every day - my Multiple Sclerosis and how the relious right along with our idiotic commander in chief (I can't even capitalize it) are keeping people like me from having hope by not funding the fucking stem cell research. This little snippet from the news today should illustrate why this just pisses me off. First, read part of the article:

BOSTON (Reuters) - Human embryonic stem cells can help regenerate damaged nerves in rats, producing compounds that nurture nerve cells and stimulate the growth of new ones, Geron Corp. said on Wednesday.

Geron had earlier reported that human embryonic stem cells had helped replace myelin, a fatty covering on nerves that is vital to function.

So basically, think of myelin as the little casing on a set of wires. Without it, the wires don't work right, if at all, often short circuiting, wreaking all kinds of havoc. Eventually, those nerves won't work at all anymore. So, in MS you have the myelin being destroyed, causing short circuits all over your body. Right now, once this is gone, it's gone. You're screwed. Yet, they have found a way to fix this in rats. They have found a way to regenerate the myelin. While this would not cure MS, it would certainly treat it much better than the shit we're forced to take. But nooooo! People are too fucking concerned about possibility of life from a bunch of frozen cells that are going to end up in the god damn trash instead of possibly preserving quality of life for those of us who have some sort of disease. And it just pisses me off. Because there is absolutely nothing I can do except write letters and complain. And I've done this - I've never even received an answer, and I know I never will.

So to all those who do not understand the concept of stem-cell research and think it's ok for people to continue living in agony because our government wouldn't further the advance of medicine through funding, I'm shouting a resounding FUCK YOU. In essence, you are saying that the "potential" for human life that is going to end up in a god damn trash can outweighs that which already exists. Therefore, folks like me are going to have to go on Social Security Disability long before we should and it's going to cost you twice as much in the long run - probably YOUR share of Social Security. So, you're still paying for it while I have to quit work and get paid to be a non-working member of society. Perhaps I should say thanks instead of being pissed. However, in essence, you're paying to have me and millions like me suffer. That makes you an asshole.

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm crabby because I'm not smoking. Not true! I am still in a fantastic mood. I just hate religious zealots that want to shove their religion and their beliefs down my throat, especially when they worm their way into medicine, science and politics. They say "put it in God's hands". Perhaps we did and he handed us stem cell research. And you're fighting it - a solution given to us by God him/her/itself. And you're fucking it up. Think about that for a bit - the possibilities that those opposed to stem cell research for religious reasons could actually be fighting the will of the God they love and adore.

And one more thing, while I'm at it: I don't want to see any of these fuckers receiving any benefits from the advances that do come from the existing stem cell lines. Only the supporters should reap the benefits.

Rant over.

Jerry, Salma Hayek & Me

2007-01-16T15:21:00.000-05:00

I started my quest to become smoke-free today. I had what should be my last smoke at about 10:00 PM on Monday, January 15, 2007. I headed into bed, taking time to brush my teeth an extra few minutes, just to remove all taste of cigarette. Got up this morning a little after 5:00 AM, dicked around for a few minutes, then remembered I needed to put on the patch. Slapped that puppy on and haven't thought about smoking since. You'll all have to excuse the little notations I'll be making at the end of my blogs for the next few weeks – I want a record of what's going through my head as I improve my health. Hooray for me! So far, Nicoderm CQ is my friend. The bitch itched a bit for the first hour it was on, but now I don't even know it's there. I've not been crabby (YET) and am still in a positive frame of mind. This cements it in my head that this time, I'm going to make it. On to other topics!

Jerry and I were talking the other night about threesomes. Not that we're considering having one – that is NOT in the works – unless Salma Hayek showed up naked on my deck. I'd have to do her. And if Jerry was at work, I'd call him and tell him to get home, but would not be able to promise that I could wait for him.

I've said before if I was ever going to do it, it would have to be me and Jerry and another woman. And she couldn't touch him. He couldn't touch her. It would have to be all about me.

Being that I am a straight woman and haven't done anything more than kiss another woman, I was trying to decide what (more correctly WHO) I would do if I were ever going to venture into the whole threesome arena. My choices as I saw them:

A willing friend
A casual acquaintance
A stranger who is also nervous about the first time down this road
A stranger experienced in the ways of loving a woman

There were pros and cons to each one. The main areas I thought about were:

Comfort with the person – obviously, we're generally most comfortable around our friends. I find it easier to enjoy things with someone I know well.

Cleanliness & disease. The edge went to the friends here as well. They are most likely to up front and honest with you about STDs. After all, you know where they live, work and play.

Comfort after the fact: The stranger wins here. If it's a terrible experience, you never have to see them again. If it's a great experience, you still don't have to see them again. If you did this with your friend and it sucked or either of you were uncomfortable at all, it could ruin your friendship. Not a chance I'd be willing to take.

I'm sure there are many other things I should be considering, but I just don't know what those would be. When it comes right down to it, I'd have to go for someone who technically is a stranger that I wouldn't have to see again. But I'd have to know something of them. So to all my female MySpace friends: If I ever decide to do something like this, be forewarned, I'm probably thinking about having sex with you!

Let's say you are going to have a threesome (don't say you wouldn't do it, just assume that you would), who would make up that threesome? A spouse? A friend? A stranger? Salma Hayek? What would the sexes of the people involved be?

MILK - It does a psycho good!

2007-01-15T15:20:00.000-05:00

Some conversations are best left to be had behind closed doors. When discussing the gruesome details of an enema, hemorrhoids, or beastiality, just to name a few. I had one of these conversations with Kris the other day. We were talking about my anger towards my neurologist, and I was whining about how they didn't go to bat with the insurance company for my Provigil (keeps me awake) when the insurance said it was an off-label use for the drug. Even though I'd been on it for a year and it was working well, they needed to fill out a form explaining WHY I needed it. They wouldn't do it and I've been without it for a year. When she asked me why insurance said no, I told her rather loudly (while standing on a street corner in downtown Richmond) "Because I'm not a necrophiliac! Maybe I should become one." As soon as I said it, I knew it was terribly wrong. So, I corrected myself, "I mean narcoleptic." And then, as if there were an audience, I turned around and yelled in the direction of the valet parking at a clinic we were in front of "BUT I'M NOT A NECROPHILIAC EITHER!"

So today, Jerry and I are childless, and off of work for what has been mistaken by two people I know as "MILK" day. Apparently, their brains filled in the "I" when viewing the text "MLK Day" on the news. So, after a little poon satisfaction, we headed out to Target (where I bought my son a t-shirt that says "Ladies Man"). After there, we headed to O'Charleys for lunch. We walk in and wouldn't you know it, Jerry's been there for lunch so often that he knows the bartender/waitress by name. As we're sitting there, I catch a part of a conversation in the booth behind me that made me roll my eyes at first, but I couldn't tear myself away as the conversation got juicier – and the man started to cry. Let me back up…the first thing I heard from this couple sitting in the booth behind me was him saying to her "it's not like you're going to get divorced or anything." So, I thought maybe brother and sister or even just friends sitting there talking about her failing marriage. Not so! As their conversation wore on, ours started to dwindle because I could not be bothered with communication that might impede my ability to eavesdrop on this couple. I should mention that I never once heard HER say a word. Just him. So, he's telling her "You and I have such a good time together. We laugh at the same things, we enjoy the same things. Why can't you just leave him? What are you afraid of?" And then the crying starts as he says "I've never felt this way about anyone. I never thought I would use the word "marry", but here I am. You have to leave him. Be with me." Oh lordie – this is getting good!

Because they're in the booth directly behind me, I can't turn and look at them for fear that he'll lower his voice and I'll miss something good. So, I lean forward and say to Jerry – "Hey. Redneck?" "Yup" he says. And the listening continues. It was much more of the same – him crying, asking her why she won't leave him, her not saying a word. Finally, they get up and leave and I get my first viewing. What a couple of dorks! She looked like she hadn't her hair cut (or conditioned) for at least 3 or 4 years. He looked like a goofy redneck who might have at one time played football, but had started to let himself go as time wore on.

Before we left, we walk up to the bar and Jerry leans forward and says to the bartender/waitress "Do you know what was going on there?" She says no, she just noticed he was crying a lot and didn't want to go over there to wait on them. So, Jerry fills her in. She proceeds to tell us how they were there at 10:55, sitting in their car making out. Just going at it like kids.

As we walked to our car, they were outside of theirs continuing their conversation. He was leaning over the top of the car, obviously crying again, and I finally heard her speak. "Why can't you just be happy?" she asked him, with quite a bit of joviality in her voice. She obviously wasn't as distraught about the situation as this guy was. I wanted to tell him to walk away – she just wasn't worth it – she didn't even care that he was crying. Nor did she offer up any hopes of divorce to the guy. Here he was, pouring his heart out to her, telling her he didn't want to live without her and she just wants a fuck buddy other than the hubby. Poor guy. He should have made her pay for her own food, I would have.

I also thought I should thank them for the blog fodder. Granted, I would have enjoyed conversation with my husband, but it was too good to pass up. Don't turn your nose up at me – you would have listened too and you know it.

Just a tip to all of you experiencing difficult times. Know that there are people out there, just like me, who love to hear your drama unfold, especially since we aren't part of it. Also, you should know that those people, just like me, will blog about you, sharing it with others just like yourselves, who are going to read it. And comment on it. And our days are brighter because of it. SO, if you don't want your story on the Internet, keep it behind closed doors. People are listening.

My only regret is that the picture-happy Kris wasn't with me. She would have taken their picture, I know she would have. Probably under the guise of needing to lift up the phone to get better reception. She's sneaky like that.

Happy MILK Day to you and yours. Hopefully, you're not stuck at work. If you are, head out for a bit and eavesdrop on the table next to you. You never know when you'll be sitting next to a narcoleptic, or better yet, a necrophiliac.

Just stuff

2007-01-14T15:19:00.000-05:00

Last night, I turned into a raging bitch from hell. Nothing pleased me. Everything everyone did was wrong. What the hell happened? I started off happy, had a great day and then POOF! Psycho strikes again. And if any of you guys suggest that it's PMS, I'll rip your head off and shit down your neck. Take that! Besides, I'm on my last day of the red zone, so Jerry is getting ready to mount a scoring drive. Heh.

Let's see here…Allow me to state for the record that I'm so happy the Saints won last night. While I don't really care about football once my beloved Packers were done playing, if I had to pick a team I want to win the Stuper Bowl, it'd be the Saints. They're like the come back kids. Sort of like the Bad News Bears (the baseball team, not to be confused with 'Da Bears!' who still suck, no matter what their record.) So, if you're a football fan, who do you think will be playing in the Super Bowl and who do you predict will win it?

I've made a life changing decision. No, I'm not having anal sex. I'm quitting smoking. Got my free box of Nicoderm CQ (plus 5 or 6 $7 off coupons for the next boxes) and we're going to see how it goes. Tuesday is the big day, and I am SO ready for it. Why Tuesday? Because my first day has to be a day at work. I hardly smoke there at all as it is, so it'll be easier than trying to start on a weekend. I'm excited about it – looking forward to all the benefits being a non-smoker has and finally, my doctors will get off of my ass. Wish me luck – hopefully this time, it'll be the last time I have to do it. Go ME!

I'm sitting here in my weekend pajamas – black satin top and pants. During the week, I usually wear a little slinky night gown, but because I don't like getting dressed when I don't have to, I'm not comfortable wearing it around the house when my step son is here. Even with my super soft white bathrobe, things are more visible. I used to have these super duper flannel jammies, which Jerry just hated. I've thrown them away because I want to feel sexy when I go to bed. No reason I can't look hot while sleeping now, is there? Which leads me to my question of the day:

What do you usually wear to bed?

Enjoy your Sunday!

Find the penis that is right for you

2007-01-13T14:38:00.000-05:00

I was thinking about the friends that I have who are out there searching for Mr. or Ms. Right. All of the trials and tribulations that they go through to find the person that they can share the rest of their life with. Even when you find one, it's a crapshoot. You might have more luck betting on the smallest rooster in a cockfight. Even though we all should know that the size of the cock isn't necessarily an indication how good they are in the ring, we're less likely to bet it all on that little guy.

This train of thought got me thinking about the size of a man's penis and the old adage of "size doesn't matter." Sure it does. Don't let anyone fool you. Certainly, size is relative to the size of a woman's vaginal opening. After all, a big fat night crawler cannot fit into a pinhole without eating the dirt around it to make it a larger hole. And I'm certain if that dirt had feelings it would yell "OUCH!" followed by "heeeeelp meeeeee!" as it slid down the worm's throat (if they have one. I'm not up on the anatomy of worms – sorry) and into his stomach as I'm sure a woman would if a guy started literally EATING her pussy.

On the opposite side of things, you can't clean the inside of a sewer with a q-tip very effectively. And, yes, I just equated a vagina to a sewer – go figure!

I think we can all agree that they need to be big enough to denote that the beholder has passed through childhood successfully. It should also be easily distinguishable from a mole or a skin tag. In other words, if you have to squint and question if that truly is penis as opposed to just a flap of skin hanging, back away.

But what does it mean when we say "big"? For some, it's the length. For others the girth. For some, it's both. When sizing up a penis to determine its usefulness to you, you should give the man the benefit of the doubt – be sure he didn't just get out of a pool (shrinkage), there's not a stiff breeze blowing across it, and it's not flaccid. Never judge a dick by the flaccid size alone. It could be that he appears not well endowed, but if you give it a little love and attention, you're looking at a live enactment of Jack & the Beanstalk. (Which, by the way, is so obviously rife with adult themes, it's almost sickening!)

So, let's say he's hard and it's not all you expected it to be. Try your BEST to hide your disappointment. I know, it's not easy. But give it a chance to impress you. Usually, poorly endowed fellows know that it's not all that and a bag of chips (that's my metaphor for a scrotum by the way). However, they may have perfected the techniques that can make you tingle all over. AND, looks can be deceiving – that is, they may be bigger than they look. Meagan has dubbed this a "ninja penis".

Here are just some basic guidelines to follow to help you determine if a penis is right for you without getting out the measuring tape:

1. While you're checking out the goods, please don't kick the
tires. (yes, another scrotum reference).

2. Try not to say things like "is that it?" or "I've seen bigger wangs on hamsters" or "you've got something stuck to your…oh, I'm sorry, that's your penis."

3. Does it feel like it might be tearing you in half? It's too big.

4. Concerned about whether or not it will gag you if you put it in your mouth? You should familiarize yourself with how big of a fruit or vegetable you can comfortable shove in your mouth. Compare it to a cucumber, a zucchini and an egg plant. Of course, this means doing some home work and practicing with vegetables before hand so that you know exactly what you're getting into.

5. If he's doing all the right moves, breathing heavy and starting to work up a sweat and you're wondering "when is he going to stick it in?" it's too small.

And that, my friends, is all I have to say about that.

Story of a girl

2007-01-12T22:28:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, there was an awkward teenager. She wanted to be thin and pretty and wanted her daddy to show her that she was important to him. She never got any of those things.

As the girl grew up, people told her a lot of things to try and boost her self confidence, but it didn't help. Why? Because she didn't need to hear that. What she needed was for people to STOP telling her she wasn't fat, she wasn't ugly and she wasn't stupid for hoping her daddy would pay attention to her. What she needed was for someone to just totally ignore the things that made her insecure, not call attention to them and just love her for who she was, exactly the way she was.

She found that quite by accident one day. One December, shortly before Christmas, she went on a trip 1,000 miles from home, to try and figure out HOW to break off an engagement. She went to see a boy she knew from the internet – but not for love. She went to hang out and have a good time with some people who didn't seem to care about any of those insecurities she had.

When she landed at the airport, she was so excited to finally meet her friend that she gave him a big, giant hug. He picked her up off the ground. His brother was there too. As she was hugging her friend, her eyes met with the brother's eyes and she knew that her entire life had just changed, right there in that moment. She couldn't explain why at the time, she just knew it had.

The weekend was interesting and fun, and the girl and the brother wound up spending much of the weekend together, just talking and enjoying each other's company. When it was time for the girl to go home, she cried and cried and cried because she knew that she belonged with this boy. He made her feel the way she deserved to feel and no one else had ever done that before. Her mind was made up.

That week passed by at such a crawl, and even though the girl and boy spent countless hours on the phone and chatting across the internet, she knew she had to see him again. He asked her to come back – offered to pay for half of the plane ticket. She flew down that next weekend. At the end of the second weekend, the girl knew that she belonged with the boy and that she'd have to move to be closer to him. They discussed it a bit and agreed tentatively that she would move there in the summer.

They enjoyed several weekends together, the girl always finding ways to get to the boy. One time, she decided she was going to surprise him for Valentine's Day. She bought her tickets and tried to convince his friends to help her surprise him. And then, she got a $1,000 phone bill. And knew it could not continue like this. She talked to the boy. She told him of her plan to surprise him for Valentine's Day. She told him instead, when she came for her visit, she would never go home. She quit her job and left her family and friends behind to move in with the boy.

She has never once regretted her decision, even though it was difficult at first, and at times it still is. She now looks at her family: Husband, step-son and son, and she wonders how on earth one sad little girl could turn into one of the happiest people alive. She knows she was lucky. Her looks are not as important to her like they used to be. Sure, she'd like to see a more attractive person when she looks in the mirror, but she is what she is and the boy loves her for it, which makes her love herself. No one else needs to say anything to her about it because people saying things does not make it all better – she needs to find that for herself. And her dad's acceptance of her isn't so necessary any more because she has the love and support of a man, which is possibly all she wanted in the first place.

All because the boy never lied to her. He never told her just what she wanted to hear. And by not saying anything, he told her all she ever needed to hear – that she was worthy of love and acceptance and whatever she was unhappy with, he would support her in fixing, but that if it never got fixed, he was fine with that.

As in any relationship, things still come up in the life of the boy and girl which may make it not so smooth sailing. However, they work it out, talk it through. They always know when something is wrong with the other and don't wait until it's too late to discuss it. Sometimes the girl still wishes she was thinner or prettier. But mostly, she just wants the boy to love her forever, just the same as she loves him.

Plus, the sex is really good. How can you go wrong with that? Thanks Jerry. Love Tattoo.

Stop the Ride! I am not getting off!

2007-01-12T22:27:00.000-05:00

I was thinking about my blog yesterday, and Jerry and I came up with the perfect thing Duane should have said to that girl who told him that she doesn't give it up and once made a man wait 3 years. He should have stopped the car, taken her hands in his, looked into her eyes and said "but you do anal, right?"

I woke up in the middle of the night last night and I was CERTAIN that I just had really good, naughty sex. Not dream sex either, but real life sex. I looked over at Jerry – sleeping. I checked my panties – still on. Tampon? Still in – and you know there is no parking in the red zone. He's a little squeamish. It was either a dream or a hallucination, or my neurons are firing in some weird fucked-up manner, making me think that things are happening that really aren't. It happens all of the time with MS, which is why it can be such a bitch finding the right meds to treat some of the symptoms. Not the point. I FELT like I just had sex – mentally felt it. I was probably glowing too. I wonder what that was about.

Today, I started thinking. If I'm right in the middle of having sex – dick is in, it's going good, is there anything he could do to make me demand that he stop and get off of me immediately. I don't know that there is. Anything short of my child suddenly screaming for me, the house being on fire, or a tornado touching down in my back yard, he's finishing the job. Now, there are lots of things that would make me not get started in the first place, but not so much that would make me insist a man stop. Perhaps if he was repeatedly causing me pain. Or repeatedly sticking a dildo up my ass (yes, yes, I know – not everyone thinks that's a bad thing.) And I've asked him to stop doing it and he still does – he's done. And he had better hope that I had at least one orgasm, or he's paying dearly.

So how about it? Is there anything that could happen mid-sexual encounter that would make you actually initiate premature coitus interruptus?

All kinds of crap rolled into one giant (b)log (1/10)

2007-01-12T22:26:00.000-05:00

So, I've got some general updating to do and then I have 2 questions to ask you because a couple of my friends asked that I do so, AND I've been tagged to do something totally gay, so I will do it just because I can.

First and foremost: My day was certainly fucked up yesterday, though not because of anything I did. I have my friend at work log on to the appointment system here and see what time my neurologist appointment is. She looks and says "it's been bumped." Bumped? This means that they took my time slot and gave it to someone else, and I would need to reschedule. They should have called me to tell me this when it happened. I never got a call. Good thing I don't work in a different part of the city. Otherwise, I would have wasted time off of work, had to drive here, fight the parking people, pay $5 for parking all for nothing. When I call them to reschedule, they tell me the next available is at the end of April.

With a resounding "Fuck you", I hang up and call the pharmacy I get my MS drugs from. You might recall, I haven't been taking them for a few months. What do they tell me? "Your doctor still hasn't faxed the refill request." Ummm..OK, that's been sent to them 3 fucking times. So, no MS drugs still, no doctor's appointment and I'm SOL. I'm thinking of calling the MS Specialty Clinic in Charlottesville and making an appointment there. Sure, it's 90 minutes away, but it's only twice a year and I bet they call in your refills for you so that you don't miss your meds.

Next, I'll do the tag. 5 weird things about me. I think I've done this one several times so will think about new things that I may not have mentioned in the past. I'm not tagging anyone though, so if you feel like doing it, consider yourself "it".

1. I cannot remember the address/phone number/etc. of anywhere I've lived in the past 10 years (except my current one) but I can remember both the address and phone number of the house I lived in from the time I was 1 until I was 5. Is that odd?

2. I can name all 50 states, in alphabetical order, in under 20 seconds.

3. Ever since I started using a new brand of toothpaste, the first cup of coffee I drink hurts my front teeth. Everyone after that is fine. It's just that first one.

4. I once refused to buy a certain clock because it looked like something my Dad would have in his house.

5. When I was 13, I learned how to belly dance & roll a joint, both while spending the summer with my Dad.

That's that. On to the ever important sexual questions! These two guys are doing research of sorts and specifically asked me to ask the folks who read this to answer a question or two. Apparently, they think you'll all answer their questions honestly. You should be proud that you've all portrayed yourselves in a manner that makes people think you know a little something about sex. I know I'm proud of you.

Cranky Ricky wants to know:

"WHY is it necessary to keep count of the number of orgasms that a woman has or that a man has? If you come 10 times and I come twice, why is that a bad thing? Even if you come (and by YOU here, I mean women) come 50 times and I come once, who cares? Is intimacy about the orgasm or about the pleasure of being together?"

Duane's conundrum

Duane went on a date with a woman. She told him that she was no "sex-pot" and that her last boyfriend waited 3 years to have sex with her and that she has to be sure that someone really likes and is not just after the booty. Mind you, this was all volunteered as they were going from dinner to a movie. He asks "Is there anything to read into this? Is this some kind of tactic I'm not aware of?"

Duane says: "Sex isn't the only thing in a relationship... but it is one of the biggest things. Am I this far out of touch with reality? What made this person think that sex is such a "dirty" thing? Is there a cure?

What's coming? Not me! (1/9/07)

2007-01-12T22:18:00.000-05:00

Have you ever gotten up and immediately thought to yourself, "Today, I'm going to fuck something up, massively"? Well, that's me today, and I'm looking forward to it! I just can't wait to see what is in store for me. Perhaps it'll be work related and I'll have missed a big deadline or I'll have sent out information to the wrong people or no information at all. Or maybe I'll forget to pick up my son at day care. You just never know. I'm kind of excited – I haven't felt this in a long, long time.

The last time I felt it, was when I was at work and I picked up the coffee pot to pour myself a nice hot cup o' joe when HOLY-O-SHIT the bottom of the pot literally fell out, spilling coffee all over my leg and ruining my planned career as a thigh model. Good thing I was wearing pants and not a skirt that day. It did leave a scar that looks remarkably like Scotland (the blue letters are actually my veins that distorted into the names of cities and such.). Here's a picture of my thigh and scar for you. Sorry about the color - crappy camera phone in a public restroom. Oh well.

Amazing, don't you think?

The time before that was 2005. I left the change bucket behind the recliner after the SuperBowl poker game. I came home and it was spilled all over the floor. Thinking nothing of it, I started noticing doggie puke with dimes in it here and there throughout my house. Later that night, we had to take Chloe to the emergency vet because she ate change. Mostly pennies. A failed endoscopy procedure followed by surgery and a whopping $3200 or so vet bill, I had my change eating dog back.

Hopefully, this will be nothing serious. And while it will obviously be a fuck-up at the time, in retrospect there are so many good jokes that will come out of the situation that once all danger has passed and the rights are wronged, I'll be able to have a great laugh about it.

In honor of what could be a great big cluster fuck today, I'd like to share some interesting emails I've received here as of late from a couple of true dicktards. Just the best for you, my friends. And you should know if ANY of you are interested in getting to know these people, I will not be offended if you take their attention away from me.

Specimen #1:

hello,
how are you? hope you are fine. i am carl robert of A SUPREME, an international modelling agent based in USA with branches in europe. i saw your profile and your pics. i must confess i love it. i would like to seek your permission to allow me to use your pic for a magazine production.. am asking you this because i need a picture of a beautiful lady like you for a magazine production for my clients. the magazine is called WOMEN AFFAIRS, it portrays the beauty, lifestyle and education of women in our society.
please let me know if you are interested in the deal because you stand a chance of making money from this deal. at least $400 for a start.
let me know if you are interested. bye and hope to hear from you later.

Specimen #2 says:

let me know

And just so you know (straight from his profile): "i am looking for a ferak interested in any freaky sex. pregnant, fisting, fat, thin, flat, young, old, anything you can think of. anything you can think of i would love to do to you."

How could a girl NOT be interested in this? What the fuck?

Here's to a fucked up day!

The Road to Happiness (1/8/07)

2007-01-12T22:17:00.000-05:00

My husband can NOT keep his hands off of me these days. He's on some crazy meds and one of the side effects is increased libido. The problem: I need to sleep sometime! I think I've found that solution – wear him out earlier in the evening. Yes, Big Daddy was POONED!

Don't read anything into this one, ok? I'm pretty happy with my life the way it is, and while there are several things I'd like to change, none of them make me completely miserable.

As I'm learning to live life more fully and make decisions that don't lead to regret, I'm finding it is not as easy of a path as I would like it to be. It's not as easy as thinking things through and seeing the big picture before making major decisions. It's not always as easy as having will power. It's not always as easy as just creating your own happiness. What the fuck does that mean anyway?

Does creating happiness in your life mean that even when things go belly-up that you simply don't give a shit and smile? Does it mean viewing things with distorted perception so that you can be happy?

I'm a realistic person. I can't just shut off when something affects me negatively. It just doesn't happen that way for me. Maybe I'm not fully grasping the ideals behind creating your own happiness. Or maybe I'm not capable of this completely blissful state of living.

If you know that quitting your job to be a stay at home mom would make you happy, but you can't afford it, how do you turn working outside of the home into happiness?

If you know that spending more time on a hobby will make you happier because while everyone else is working on theirs, you'd have something to do that you enjoy, but you just don't have the energy or the attention span to do anything like that, how do you turn that into happiness?

I have most of everything I could ever want, materially speaking. I have a wonderful husband and a great family. I'm working on my self image, even though I'm up against a stumbling block right now and am trying to work around it. However, I don't have that overall sense of peace and happiness with my life that I had hoped to at this point in the game.

I still get frustrated, angry and bitchy when things just don't go the way I planned for them to go. I still have regrets about the way I do certain things, about the way I express my feelings, about the way I don't ask for help until I'm fumbling around like an idiot and so pissed and angry at myself that I take it out on the person I need the help from.

I still feel like I should be doing more for other people. I still feel like I should be doing more to keep my house cleaner, or my yard looking nicer so that I'm not in a full blown panic when people are coming over.

And I still feel like when I really need to be heard and understood, I come across as accusatory, bitchy or nagging. One should never feel that by expressing their thoughts, feelings and opinions that they are complaining. Maybe I just haven't learned how to do those things in a way that comes across as assertive, not aggressive & bitchy. Or perhaps, like everything, I procrastinate, thinking it will get better and by the time I say anything, I'm fully irritated. Who knows!

Gee, and I thought that new years were supposed to be filled with hope and promise. Fuck that. This has nothing to do with a new year – these are issues I've always had. And new year or not, I want to make life a little happier for myself and those I love.

So you tell me – how does one create happiness in their lives out of turmoil, fear, and feelings of failure?

What about the Children? (1/7/07)

2007-01-12T22:16:00.000-05:00

As I was reading my son a book last night ("Thomas and the School Trip), we get to the end and he looks up at me with an angelic face and says "Mommy, why is she kissing Thomas?"

"Because, honey. She is a whore." And if you think I'm just bitter, the page before gave me all the proof I needed -

2 boys? They start early on the Island of Sodor!

This made me think of all of the books I've ever read to him and some of the questionable content (thanks writers & illustrators of children's books!) I'd like to share a few revelations with you. This way, if you have children (or nieces & nephews, kids of friends, etc.) that you may be interested in reading to, you'll know before hand what you're getting into.

First and foremost - I have the proof I needed that Sir Topham Hatt (the fat conductor in the Thomas series) is gay:

And does that hippie boy with his arm around the girl have a huge mustache? I bet he was offering rides for 5 cents.

In another version of this same book, we see the same theme repeated. Just look at the half naked boy with the gay cowboy vest getting off of the bus.

However, not one to pick on just Thomas, I need to point out that Curious George was a smoker.

The Little People encourage children to roll in the hay together.

In "The Runaway Bunny", apparently, the Mom bunny had offered to blow her little bunny.

In "Katie No-Pockets", they have suggestions about how certain animals "do it"

I'm just glad I'm not a bird!

As you can see, there is a LOT going on in these books, and I'm certain if you look for yourself, you'll find more. However, I'm ok with this, after all I'm the mom who bought him a 16" talking woody. I also told him last night that Buzz Lightyear wanted to go to bed with him. So, what does that say about me?

What's with the hair? 1/6/07

2007-01-12T22:15:00.000-05:00

I've got something on my mind and since this is my outlet, I'm letting it out here. I've got way too much in me to just keep it all inside, nice and neat. It's starting to get crowded in this warped little brain of mine and it's time to let it go.

I need a change. I need for something to happen that goes 100% my way for once. Only twice in my life have things gone my way without me having to make loads of concessions: I married a great man and I have a beautiful son. Not that either of those came easily to me, I really had to work and struggle to get both, but in the end, I got exactly what I wanted.

I'm unsure of what I want to change though, and that's the problem. Is it my hair color? I've been a red-head. I've had blacker than black hair (80's baby!). I've had dark, dark brown with caramel colored highlights (have that now). I could go back to red, but I'm not sure how my hair will take that. Winding up with red hair in the first place was an accident. I was 16ish. My natural hair color is almost black, with the tiniest bit of red mixed in - ahhhhhh the Irish genes! My girlfriend and I decided my hair would look really cute with blonde streaks in it - after all, this was the 80's. So, I bought a home color kit, she pulled my hair through the cap, painted on the dye and we wait. When the timer went off, we washed it out. It looked SOOOOO cute! We were sneaking beer and drank a few, giggled for a bit and drifted off to sleep.

The next day, I got up and headed to the bathroom. What I saw in the mirror made me cringe, scream and cry. My head was orange. Fucking orange! Have you ever seen a woman with black hair who has tried to die it blonde? You know how it turns orange? Well, that was me, except it seemed brighter than any orange I've ever seen. Carrot top, move over. Then, the horror really hit me - I was going to a family reunion that day. "MOM!!!!" I went upstairs and showed her. She started laughing, I kept crying. I remember begging her to go to the drugstore and get a box of the darkest hair dye she could find so that I could fix it. She said she'd take me, but I had to go. This was to be a lesson in why I shouldn't mess with the color of my hair. I tied a bandanna around my head - like a 70's housewife, donned some dark sunglasses and got in the car. I found the darkest brown I could find and brought it home, got it on my head and waited. When the time came to wash it out, I ran to the bathroom and began immediately with the begging to God, Jesus, whatever higher power was listening. "Please let this turn out normal. If you do, I will never mess with the hair you gave me again. I will leave it alone, in all its glory and have no shine to it whatsoever.

After I washed it all VERY thoroughly, I wrapped the towel around my head so tight and refused to take it off. I must have spent at least an hour with that thing on my head until finally, I couldn't stand it any longer. I went in the bathroom and in front of the mirror, I began to unwrap my head. And do you know what color I saw under there? Certainly not the darkest brown that was available at the store that day. Of course not, that would be too easy! I guess my prayers were futile. Perhaps it was all of the promises to not smoke any more if just this one time my mom didn't find that pack of smokes I left in my jacket, only to get home, find them and immediately go light up!

Yes, I was Ronald Fucking McDonald. The brightest red hair you could ever imagine on a human. Not the shade of red that you see girls putting in their hair today. No, it was more like my head was on fire, and had just been put out and what was left was burning embers. It was that color.

I went to the family reunion, avoided all cameras and went back home, beaten down by the stares of those who were supposed to love me no matter what. I thought to myself if I waited a few weeks, I could try darker hair dye again and it should solve the problem. However, one week later, the bright, brassiness had toned down incredibly and it was the most beautiful shade of red hair I'd ever seen.

I kept that color until I turned 33, at which time I decided to go back to my natural brown. After all, I just had a baby and felt a strong need to have the same hair color as my son. As it turns out, he's got his mama's curls with his daddy's color, so it no longer seems important to me. At that same time, I got most of the length cut off, something I had sworn I would never do again. Of course now, I'm trying to grow it out again, but loved it while it was short!

I just want something new. Something exciting. Something vibrant. Hair seems easy, and if I screw it up again, I can always go get the darkest color of brown I can find at the store. Maybe with some luck, it'll turn into some new color I never imagined it could be.

Or perhaps I should just go buy some new makeup. I'm tired of brown eye shadow. Maybe its time to go back to the purple hues I used in high school. Or maybe I should rearrange the furniture in my house. Or maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't change anything and just be grateful that overall, life is good.