Finding Zen

It's All Corn

Chickens:

1.  I got two words for you.  Global Warming.  It's no joke.  If you haven't seen An Inconvenient Truth yet, please do.  My sister in law said that she could have done without Al Gores little nostalgic snippets - and I kind of agree...but the message is super important.  I can tell you this.  I am very concerned after what I learned in Antarctica.  To listen to these guys, these scientists who have spent their entire lives studying and analyzing the environmental changes that have been occurring in places like Antarctica due to global warming - to hear them say how worried they are, is not good.  It's so freaky infact, that for three days on our return back to South America I sat in our little cabin drafting plans for the bomb shelter and emergency supplies we'll have one day on our farm in the middle of BFE.  The place we will be where the shit won't hit our proverbial fan when (not if) the bottom falls out in all the big cities when people can no longer afford to fill their gas tanks up and the domino effect that is sure to ensue begins and people become paralyzed because they are dependent on a society that provides everything for them.  We'll be the freaky ones...but that's okay.  Because we'll have water and cows.  And pigs.  And stuff.  Which leads me to the second chicken.

2.  The Omnivore's Dilemma.  When we were on our first cruise (the one with all the old people and the bingo...which I actually played and won a electro detox shock therapy session where mud was applied to my upper arms and my muffin top and my stomach...and then they put electroids (is that a word?) on the mud on my body and cranked those puppies up for 30 mins causing my muscles to spaz out and release all the McDonald's and Taco Bell toxins from me wobbly bits)... I picked up this book out of the library and made Zack read it because it sounded like something that would interest him...which it did.  And now he is obsessed with the knowledge he has thanks to this book, that practically EVERYTHING processed we eat is made up of corn, and how the government subsidizes corn...and blah blah blah.  And most disturbing of all, claims my little Einstein, for the love of all thats holy, COWS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO EAT CORN...but they do.  And then we eat the cows.  The corn fed, sick, cows.  And just in case this message wasn't clear to me before, now Vern is reading the book and can't let a commercial run by without pointing out wildly that ITS ALL CORN!  Basically the word on the street is that corn might be the Antichrist. 

3.  I learned too much about body toxins on that cruise, and Zack and I have decided to do the ol' cleansing.  I totally nudged Jayne and Melissa to do this as my guinea pigs...and now it's my turn.  It's time to purge the 50 some odd McDonald's double cheeseburger remnants that I ate in 1999 that I have been told are shellacked to my colon and intestines 7 years later.  You should do it to!

4.  We are trying to find a house.  I want a home so bad.  We are so ready for a place of our own.  It has been since APRIL now since we have had our own place...ack.  The home buying process is tiresome...and of course we can't seem to find something we both agree 100% on. 

5.  My brother is getting tested for epilepsy.  His scare last week was his third episode in the last 10 years or so.  If you are a prayer (hal-ay-yul-ya!), you can pray for his good health.  That would be swell.  He's a good guy and really cool dad, and we are really anxious to get some more definite information about why this keeps happening to him. 

6.  Me and my little love penguin.

 

Why. WHY?

I don't know how to break this news to you all.  I am pretty shaken up about it.  In fact.  Finance and I spent a good hour in bed last night mulling this over.  I'd post a picture, and I'm sure some of you will be surprised that I didn't.  But I left my camera at work.  So you get a pass this time.  Just this time.

But I have something that will do.  For the sake of comparison.

 

On May 22nd 2006, we delivered our dearest Marley to the vet for castration.  This was not my choice.  The one condition that my friend Kat would take Marley for the year while Finance and I travel the globe, was that he get his balls clipped.  I obliged.

Finance picked up Marley Bigalo Labrador Gigalo after his surgery and ran him back to the house to rest.  I came home after work to find my dog.  Marley.  With no bits to speak of, BUT, a very large, deflated, wrinkly, kibble.  Err.  Sack.  They left his bosack.  People.  You have no idea, what an eye sore this is.  It is wrong.  How do you rob a man of his jewels, and leave him with an empty deflated sack of what used to be his manliness. 

Did I get the discount procedure?  Did I miss the fine print?  I did ask for a good price.  Was this whole thing A LA CARTE?  Was there a bosack disposal fee that I didn't pay for?  Why.  WHY???  WHY???  This isn't right.  And I don't know how to call these people and ask them why when they took the balls, they left the scrotom?

It's like a big ass tag.  A wrinkly, hairy, mutant tag growing out of his ass.  Is it supposed to fall off??  Will Barty or Zoe find Marleys lifeless bosack on the floor one day and pick it up mistaking it for a toy.  Eagerly holding it in its mouth as a gift for whoever might be coming in the door?  And what about when he goes to lick his balls, and winds up with a mouth full of bosack flapping around in his mouth like bubble gum?  I will jump off a bridge.

So I ask you people of the internet.  Explain this to me.  And if you can't, then give me the words to call up my vet's office to ask for one.  Because.  I.  Stella McBarferson.  Am at loss for words.

Marley Bigilo, Labrador Gigilo

My dog is hot.  Like THE FEVER hot!  Something has come over him like I've never seen. He's like a different dog.  And, not to mention he has perfected the multitasking art of air humping while walking and licking cooter.  I mean, he has had his nose so far up Barty's ass for the last 5 days, it's ridiculous.  Last night Vern and I were sitting in the living room trying to knit and unwind from a days work.  There are three dogs at our feet.  Marley.  Zoe.  And their dog, Bartrum.  Let's have a look shall we.  Here is the pack.

Zoe Pitts

 

Marley Bigilo

and Barty Griffin

Zoe is in a corner somewhere trying to lay low, because she has been through this before once.  She knows better than to have her ass exposed.  But Barty.  Well now, Barty is just TOTALLY encouraging Marley's behavior.  She might as well be begging for it.  Because she walks around the house, her nubby little tail just flipping around Marleys nose and she'll straight up just lie down, roll on her back and relax her hips so she is spread wide open.  Easy access.  Marley dives in.  This dog has gotten more action in the last week that any of us in that house for the past year.  The both of them, are down right digusting.  There is constant licking, and snorting, and well...you all know how I feel about that sort of thing in GENERAL, you can imagine how my blood curdles when I discover the licking and snorting is of Marley eating Bartrum out.

Add to this Marley's air-humping with his GIGANTIC balls just banging around and up against whatever he is thrusting near...and we are talking one agressive, testosterone filled tension in a room.  We finally decided to put Marley downstairs because he is just out of control.  Won't rest is loins for one minute! We sat back down, and once that testosterone had been removed, it was AMAZING how much calmer everyone was.  We joked around that that 'last row' we'd had knit was pretty DAMN TIGHT.

I am convinced he knows Monday he's getting his nuts chopped.  He's got to know.  It's so bad, we may have to quarantine him for the next 5 days.

 

Mommy

This one time, my gay roomates took me to a gay strip club here in Atlanta called Swinging Richards.  Upon walking in the club I was bombarded with images of gay porn on supersized flat screened tv's in every corner of the room.  I wanted someone to hold me...hold me tight.  It took them about 20 mins of coaxing me away from the comforts of the front door and the fresh air of the outside on my back.  Cooling me down.  I almost cried.  By the end of the night and a few adult beverages I had managed to 'out' one of the supposed homosexuals in the back room.  AND YES BAD THINGS HAPPEN IN THE BACK ROOMS!!! It was very Sex In The City.  I was very Samantha.  And I had no qualms about making out with a gay stripper. 

I tell you this because there haven't been many times in my life where I have felt the urge to curl into fetal, in the bathtub with the shower on, while listening to The Smiths.  There was that one night when I had to tune out gay porn and swinging richards for an entire evening, and this morning.

Someone looking for information on 'how to stimulate a dogs anal region' has been directed to my blog.  And I want my mommy.   

How About Those TPS Reports?

Tuesday Observations.

*It's really obnoxious when people honk from afar.  Now.  I'm all for a good honk if you have cut me off, but I think that only directly affected parties should be involved in the honk exchange.  If you SEE something 5 cars down that pisses you off, you don't get honking privileges.  You then become the asshole.  I was in the car with an asshole the other day, and I wanted to melt into the seat I was that embarrassed.  It would be like getting into a fight with someone who called your friends, sister's cat, a lazy SOB.  Honestly, it's none of your business.  The last thing I need is someone out there road- raging on my behalf. 

*I don't expect to get a whole lot of sympathy here.  But let me tell you.  Do you know how UNmotivated to get ANY measureable work done one becomes when they have 12 days of work left for like....A WHOLE FRIGGIN YEAR???  Yeah.  How about those TPS reports? 

*I am a Pepsi drinker.  Not because I love Pepsi products in general, but because I prefer the sweetness of Pepsi to the fizziness of Coke.  There is one exception to this rule.  McDonalds.  There is CRACK in McDonalds coke.  THAT 'Coke' is totally different.

*I have been running with Mr. Buck in the neighborhood lately.  That 71 year old man can run like Forrest Gump.  I had been running regularly for a couple weeks which consisted of a few laps around the neighborhood caul-de-sac for 20mins.  I am sure glad I didn't offer to take him on one of my 'routes', because his are ONE HOUR marathon training circuits to Marietta and back.  HOLY SHIT.

*We went to JJill and I found an outfit for the rehearsal dinner.  (which makes no sense...because I don't have a bridal party and there will be no rehearsing.).  There isn't a thing I put on that I didn't want to take home with me.  That store is my new obsession.  It doesn't hurt too when you have to shop in the 'Petite' section.

     Unfortunately I couldn't find the 'bride's new wardrobe' category in the wedding budget.  I had to settle (settle?? brat..I know!) for the light khaki linen capris, the white tank-top and the blue sweater top.  OMG it is so yummy.  I had a hard time choosing between the left sweater and the right sweater.  I could never be president.  I'm not much of a 'decider'.

I usually want it all.  Which works at Taco Bell considering the menu items are typically less than a dollar.  At JJill, mmmm, there are no extra value ensembles.

*I found an old IQ test report that had been conducted on me when I was in 5th grade, while we were packing up the house before we moved out.  I read it out loud to Vern in the car on the way to work this morning.  Here is an excerpt:

'Stella was a very attractive young girl with dark blonde hair who was somewhat small in stature for her age.  She was quite friendly and cooperative throughout the evaluation and appeared to try her best on all the tasks presented to her.  She stated that she enjoyed being evaluated and seemed to like being challenged by the tasks presented her.  She had no problems tolerating frustration and appeared to be generally relaxed and confident.  She was quite spontaneous and exhibited good social skills.

There goes on something about how Im good with deductive reasoning and psycho-motor speed, but had a relative weakness in ability to sequence visually perceived events and spatially organize material involving inductive reasoning.  My strengths are in reasoning abstractly, both verbally and non-verbally.

Who knew 17 years later I would be discussing these very issues in therapy as they apply to my adult relationships.

But it gets better.  Here is my favorite part:

'Stella obtained a full scale IQ of 123 (give or take 3), which lies at the 94th %tile rank and reflects SUPERIOR level of intellectual functioning.'

I told Finance, the next time he starts getting unruly, instead of giving him the hand I'm going to blow up that sentence and stick it on a posterboard and shove it in his face.  We wouldn't want him forgetting he is in the presence of Superior Intelligence.

Hand Me The Barf Bag

I am compelled to share with you a list of things that make me miserable.  The one thing that they all have in common is their ability to make me upchuck.  Here they are in no particular order.

1.   Having blood drawn.  The feeling of the needle coming out, slowly.  I can't watch.

2.   When they use those rubber bands to get your veins to come out when they are taking blood, and tie it too tight...and your arm gets really numb and then they start poking at your vein.  Over and over and over again.  Thumping it.  And you can feel it, kinda sorta...but not really, because of the numb thing.  That makes me want to puke. 

3.   The words 'Spinal Tap'.  The idea of a needle withdrawing SPINAL FLUID out of your back...just makes me weak.  Like vertigo weak.  Not like I know what vertigo feels like.

4.   An epidural.  This doesn't sound fun.

5.   When the gynecologist SWABS your cervix during a pap smear.  The feeling that something is being scraped, but you can't see it...but you can feel it...something about not being able to make the eye sensation connection...its like you imagine the cervix just suspended in the cavity of your being...and its being SWABBED for christ sakes!  What in the hell!

6.   When the gynecologist fondles your ovaries to check for cysts.  No thanks.

7.   Cleaning out or poking a finger in my belly button.  It might as well be the center of the universe in there, because when it is messed with, one could seriously bring me to my knees.

8.   Pulling on my toes.  Finance does this sometimes when I'm not paying attention and it really pisses me off.  The feeling of your joints in your fingers and toes being separated, omg.  It like pops.  Eww.  Gross.

9.   When someone strokes (pets) my back, leg, arm...anywhere really, over and over and over again, in the same place.  Makes me want to puke.

10.  My collar bone region.  I don't like for it to be touched either.  Makes me weak.

11.  The squiggly in the egg.  If I see that fucker anywhere near my cooked eggs...game over.

12.  Jameson whiskey.  I had a shot the day of my fathers funeral, and once when I was working at the bar last year.  Both times it came back up immediately after swallowing.  But I swallowed the regirge because I didn't want to look like a pansy.

13.  Sometimes sex.  Believe it or not.  Sometimes the sensation of sex feels similar to that whole finger in the belly button thing.  Something about numbness.  Not a fan.  When I used to get stoned...the minute my body parts would start to tingle, I'd wig out.  Totally wig.  Like put me in the loony bin wig.

14.  The Gravitron at the county fair.

15.  A really bad fart, will make me dry heave in a instant.  Like there have been a few times Finance has hot boxed me in bed and I'll just about puke. And he thinks it's hysterical. (omg.  I am such a lamo.  I meant to say DUTCH OVEN'ED...right?  Hot box is sharing your lefover pot smoke...right?  I ALWAYS SCREW THESE THINGS UP).  I don't know how I will ever clean up my kids vomit, or diarrhea because I have such a weak stomach.  The worst, is when Zoe eats Wysong.  Sometimes she gets into Barty's (Vern and Mr. Bucks dog) food.  That shit gives her the worst gas...it makes me angry if I smell a Wysong fart.  It's just not right.

16.  Having my blood pressure checked.  I HATE THAT thing.  I hate how I become acutely aware of my heart beating when they do that.  One time I did one of the ones they have in the grocery store, and once I realized that it had me like in a VICE GRIP and it wasn't gonna let go until it was good and ready...I got into a mild panic that it wasn't gonna release my arm and I'd just die of arm constriction.  Like a snake!  I about passed out.

17.  When they do a strep test and stick that long ass stick with the q-tip on it down your throat?  I burp out loud right in the nurses face EVERY TIME.  It's pretty offensive as a matter of fact.  You ever do that?  Like, burp gag?

18.  Having a catheter put in your piehole.  I mean...your peehole.  HOLY SHIT.  Had I known they were going to stick a tube up in those parts when I went in to the ER with PREMENSTRUAL CRAMPS, I'd have taken a Midol and kept my 'piehole' shut.

What makes you barfy?

Ain't Messin With No Broke Broke

I sold my Volvo!  To this chick named Callie.  (Hi Callie!)  Yes.  I gave her my blog address.  So what?  In fact.  Not only did I give Callie my blog address, she got to see 'The Lazaro'.

How about I back it up.

Okay.  So Callie comes to the house to inquire about my Volvo for sale.  I toss her the keys and we go for a spin.  In a 10 minute loop, I have equipped her with enough information to write my biography.  We discuss nothing of the car.  Who wants to talk about cars??  But she got to find out about Nye, and Marley, and the story behind my wedding BLING, and she knows all about Mr. Buck and how great he is and what he does, that I'm in love with Vern and that they don't like Bush, that I majored in Communications, and how I met Finance online, and how I am super anxious (as IF), that I'm wearing cowboy boots at the wedding, how I played tennis in high school, hate ethnic food, Finance's idea of 'ethnic tuesday' and how we went to Moroccan the other night, that I hate seafood, that I knit and will open a knitting shop one day, how I like to drive fast on side streets but have borderline anxiety attacks on the interstate, that we are traveling the world, that I went to FSU, lived in Tampa and hate UF.  By the time we were back in front of the house and before she even had an opportunity to say 'Thanks Buhbye', I had her in Vern's guest bedroom looking at my wedding dress and veil. 

I finally release Callie an hour later and sit down to a glass of wine and think to myself 'HOLY FUCK, WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED TO ME?'.  I'm thinking, this must be what Finance is talking about when he tells Meredith in therapy that he gets so anxious about what is going to come out of my mouth....at any given moment, in any number of circumstances.  I am looser than a loose cannon.  Like WAY loose.

Moments like these happen to me all the time.  I feel like I'm on speed for christ sakes.  And then when I finally slow down, I'm all like WTF?  Who was that?  So Vern comes home later that night.  I tell her all about my new best friend Callie.  Vern's all like 'So does she like the car?'  I'm thinking hell if I know, I was too busy talking about me.  I said 'I don't know, but she loved my dress!'.  Well, at least we know where my priorities are. 

Omg.  I'm so pumped up about this wedding! 

And I died my hair.  Again.  I'm a brunette.  Total brunette.  Pictures tomorrow.

Word to your mother.

Welcome To MaDonnas

I'm sorry. I just can't help myself.

It's 5am. Do You Know Where Your Soap Has Been?

The other day my morning radio talk show folks were discussing the topic of bodily cleanliness.  Someone asked the question:

'You don't use the same loofah you use to wipe your butt, to wash your face DO YOU?'

And immediately everyone was all like:

'oh hell no!  are you crazy? pfffff'. 

And I sat there in my car hearing this thinking to myself, why, I have never considered this before.  Suddenly I felt this sinking, pit of my stomach, omg, am I a dirty hippy feeling. 

Does the rest of the world actually have TWO loofahs stocked in their showers?  One for ass/cooch/and balls and another for everything else?  No way!?  I have NEVER seen two god damned loofahs in your shower.  Had I been raised wrong?  Had I been in the dark all these years?  Had I not gotten the FUCKING MEMO?

And then they went on to discuss bars of soap.  Same question. 

'You don't use the same soap you swipe your butt with, to rub all over the rest of your body...do you??' 

Again.  Same response in unison. 

'Oh hell no!  That's gross! Ewwwww!'. 

Panic.  Omg.  I totally just swiped my whooha this morning and two seconds later rubbed it in my face and guess what.  I didn't think a damn thing of it. 

ITS FUCKING SOAP!!  And I had always assumed that the loofah at all times has got to be pretty damn clean...seeing how it spends most of its life soaked in soap.  RIGHT?  RIGHT PEOPLE???

Tell me you don't have separate soaps, and separate loofas for your ass.  Because if you do, I'm just going to pack my bags tonight and go quarantine myself from the rest of you FREAKS!

Now what this conversation DID do for me, was enlighten me to the FACT that I may think twice before I ever use someone elses bar of shower soap to wash my face. 

Donde Esta El Ham-bear-gwessa?

Who is the fairest gringa of them all?

Dooooood.  I totally took her to the house. 

El nino de los fuerte pollos

I HATE MEME's (WTF does that shite stand for anyway?).  I don't like reading them on other peoples blogs (I know, I know, I'm a callous beyotch) and rarely do I EVER do them.  I find people much more fascinating and learn more about them though their stories then their lists.

ONLY because I feel such a strong kinship and loyalty to one of my first blog buddy/readers, Weirdgirl, am I dignifying her 'tag' with a response.  ACK ACK.  Weirdgirl.  My dear.  Know how very hard, ACK, this is for me to post.  ACK ACK.

So here we go.  The MEME is for me to tell you '6' weird things about myself.  Only I will naturally have to change the game to whatever I want if I am to list anything.  So I present to you '6' completely random, unrelated thoughts that come to me right at this moment...now.

1.  I picked up my Lazaro wedding gown last night from the store.  I'm not telling you which one it is...and if you know, stfu or I will crush you.  The bustle is more exciting than the dress itself.  I think I may walk thru the pasture to my man during the ceremony with the bustle already bustled.  (GASP!) It fits like a glove and I can't put to words what it feels like to be perfectly nestled inside of 4,000 dollars worth of the finest silk you have ever felt.   It is absurdly fucking brilliant!  Having cups sewn into the dress was a good idea.  The girls look way more excited.  Vernie yelled into my dressing room that 'We need to remember to give that boy a crochet hook or he'll never get you out of this thing at the end of the night'.  I could only imagine Finance drunk with his big fingers trying to carefully pluck the 80 satin looped buttons down my spine.

2.  We are closing on our home next Monday and selling a good bit of our possessions this Saturday.  Come next week, we will be feeling a bit stripped down.  Me thinks.  I can't believe this is all happening.  Thanks yet again to the Vernster and Mr. Buck for allowing us to shack up in their home for the next month.  We are forever indebted to them and their generosity and kindness. 

3.  The boy's wedding outfit is apparently complete as well.  Word on the street is that he got some kind of 'bespoke' thing going on. 

4.  I have to get his wedding ring engraved soon.  I have no idea what I am going to say inside his rang.  I am so compelled to say something smart ass...but then I worry that his will be all serious...and I will feel like a retard when he reads his out loud and its all 'yo quiero tu huevos grandes' or something.  Then of course the opposite could happen.  I could be all serious like 'when the 5th bell rings, we will set unto the sun in eternal happiness'....and his will say 'yo quiero tu huevos mas pequenos'.  We may have to have a little talk about all this engraving business.  Guidelines may be necessary.

5.  Speaking of gringos.  Jen and I are going to have a SPANGLISH war.  Not quite sure of the details yet, but we both think we are spanglish experts, and so I challenged her to a duo. There would be only one rule.  No verbos.  Make that two rules.  No verbos and no conjugating, dammit.  We would have a blog spanglish 'off' and then translate for all of you to be the judge.  Winner would receive the Gringa of the Year award.

6.  I want a baby girl (someday), and I want to name her Grace.  Or Lola.  or Lola Grace.  Any combination will work.  But Finance just won't have any of it.  He thinks its too old.  Too dusty.  Too....Tea Rose.  How can I convert him? 

That is all.

Wa Da Ta

One day we were stuck in the house and this horrid movie came on that Finance had to watch.  Pootie Tang.

To Finance it was.  'How can you NOT watch a film called Pootie Tang?'.  To me, it was 'Why would I want to watch a film called Pootie Tang?'.  Wa Da Ta.

Never trust a man who would label a film like 'Welcome To Whoop-Whoop', a classic.  And if you have never seen it.  Don't.

So he watched Pootie Tang while I writhed on and off the couch like a 4 year old who has been sent to 'the naughty chair'.  My eyeballs explored remote places of my eye sockets never before ventured.  It was torture.  Have you ever experienced a moment in your relationship where you are looking at your sexy, intelligent, fascinating, dare I say sometimes brilliant, counterpart, almost in tears he is so amused, by something you have never in your life found to be more retarded and you think to yourself 'This is the man i have chosen to procreate with?'.

Yeah.  So back to Pootie Tang.  I mean, with such memorable lines like: "You can't hurt a ho with a belt... they like that shit."  What's not to like?

For the next month, at least, I had to hear my 30 year old very white man-child running around the house snappin' imaginary belts yellin out 'WA DA TA!'.  I also recall hearing 'Nay to the say' quite a few times too, but I think he made that one up all by his self!

All of yesterdays talk about Putang had me thinking about 'Pootie Tang' this morning, so I thought I would share.

And I will leave you all with a great photo.  Something about this picture that just says everything.  I am this kids self appointed cyber nanny.  Thanks for giving us all such great pictures Ted.

This is Liam.  After a really long day. 

 

'Hey Beavis. Did he like just say POON-TANG?'

First Vernie calls me out with that whole 'Back That Ass Up' comment, and then I get home Friday and Finance and I get into a bottle of wine and this whole 'Music of Today' debate.

Wanna guess which side of the fence he had both feet planted firmly on?  He went on to tell me how much shit I was full of, and he was right.  He reminded me song after song from our generation of lyrics full of messages our own parents would have had us committed over, had they paid much attention to them.  He reminded me that neither of us turned out so bad, and while we may not have ever contemplated things like...oh say suicide or homicide, we bashed our heads along with Metallica and Pantera.  Same shit, different day. 

And he's right.  And I digress.  Because you're right Chase, there was something thrilling and daring about yelling out in the 'underage' club at 14 years old 'I WANNA FUCK YOU LIKE AN ANIMAL' with Trent Reznor...but the truth is I wouldn't lose my virginity until I was 20 years old.  And I mumbled lyrics out with Junior Mafia and Notorious BIG in college with the best of them.  Hillary can attest.  So does it really MEAN anything that the teenage boys are singing with Juicy J about 'keepin the pussy wet'?  Hmm.  Probably not.   

I think what I find most interesting about this discussion, and my own revelation about music content, is that oftentimes we latch on to certain songs, merely because they are catchy.  Because I'll tell you what, I was jogging the other day and listening to one of my FAVORITE Tribe Called Quest albums, and Electric Relaxation is playing and I'm jammin, whats up, and I'm all up in my grove and all the sudden....WTF QTIP?  Did I just hear you say something about PUTANG???  Rewind:

'Now I wanna pound the putang until it stinks'

Oh no he did-nt!  And my heartbroke.  I felt like I had just walked in on my perfect, sweet, would never loook at porn (would he?), Finance...looking at porn!  Oh the horror!

Q-tip just said PUTANG.  AND he wants to POUND IT UNTIL IT STINKS??? Umm, EWWWWWWWW! This is what I have been jammin to all these years???

My heart palpitated just a little bit.  And then I realized that I really am full of shit.  So all you Three 6 Mafia lovers, I apologize.  Some say To-may-toe, some say toe-ma-to.  Some say Puss-ee, some say Poo-tang.

I think what this all boils down to, is, the simple fact that I AM GETTING OLD AND CONSERVATIVE. 

WTF?

Gone Fishin'

I'm going through an identity crisis. 

Did I ever tell you about that one time, in therapy, when Meredith mentioned the three letters O-C-D in the same sentence as 'my anxiety'? 

It's the impulse dying of hair, and the impulse spending of money I don't have, and the impulse to drink when I get bored, and the impulse need to have conversations with people about things that feel very urgent to me at very inappropriate times, and the occasional turrets when asked what I really thought about the dinner that was cooked for me, or how comfortable I was sleeping in the guest bed, or how the dog really behaved while we were watching her, or when I share my disappointment opening up a white nanopod for Christmas when I was really hoping for a black one, it is the thing that drives me to the plastic surgeons office to consider injecting poison into my face, or spending $2,000 to fix a slightly twisted tooth that no one else will ever notice is slightly twisted, it's what makes me want to plan the wedding date before the engagement and the baby before the marriage, it is the general overall need to fullfill every waking desire and need that ever crosses my mind...RIGHT AT THIS VERY MOMENT, because god forbid I wait until tomorrow or two weeks from now, or a year (the horror!)....because it will be gone, something will be missed, I will have missed the train or someone will have beaten me to the punch...the world will explode and I will be left with nothing. So I have to ACT NOW.  As a result I get anxiety attacks and have chronic GAS...not like farty gas, but burpy theres a balloon stuck in my lungs kinda gas. 

I am a marketers wet dream.  And 'it' is the bane of my husband (to be's) existence.  And this, people, is why I take Lexapro every day. 

Have a good weekend ya'll!

Piss Happens

Well we all know that Shit Happens, and happened quite aggressively to me a few days ago when I got abducted by body snatching aliens.  But did you know that PISS HAPPENS too?

Sure it does.  Let me explain.

I never walk my dog.  I am a horrible horrible dog mother.  If Ceasar Milan ever came to my home, and saw how cracked out my dog Marley is, he would spank me.  Finance threatens to call Ceasar Milan on me all the time.  Anyway.  I never walk my dog because he is 70lbs of brute strength that practically nuts himself out of sheer excitement to be outside.   He becomes so overwhelmed by stimulus that he combusts and morphs into this erratic cracked out freak.  Darting left and right, he sprays piss all over the place, he shits excessively and in the middle of the sidewalk while walking....he's just a mess.  I can't take him anywhere. 

Now I know the solution to this problem is the problem itself.  'The walk' is such a miserable experience for me, I don't do it.  I know, I know....I don't want to hear it.

So.  The other day I decided to go for a run.  Well, clearly I can't take Marley for a run, so I took Zoe.  The good dog.  Finance's dog.  Big surprise.  She was perfect.  We got to the park in the neighborhood and there was a little concert going on.  Zoe and I took a seat and within 5 mins a dog approached her and she turned into Cujo.  She does that.  Zoe is not the social butterfly.  And I don't entirely trust her.  I thought to myself 'Maybe I will go home and get Marley and bring him here.  He is so good with kids and plays well with other dogs...'. 

So I ran home and dropped Zoe off and picked up Marley.  I was a bit anxious, but excited, I had felt badly that he couldn't come in the first place, and I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to get him out.  I changed sweaty clothes and grabbed a cider from the fridge.  It was late afternoon and I figured me and my bud could just go 'chill in the park', listen to some good tunes and hang.  I put on a cute little tank top, some jeans, and my new Keen sandals (they are heaven).  I looked cute.  Dammit.

Out the door, beer (if you can call it that) in one hand, Marley in the other threatening to drag me down the street.  I fought with him all the way to the park, naturally....and we got to a place where I could sit down on this step and relax.  Listen to the music.  Good times.  Eh?

Yes, good times, until suddenly I am feeling incredible WARMTH against my back.  Yes...warmth, and wet.  And I turn around and my dog is pissing on me.  And entirely too much time had elapsed for me to realize what was going on before my entire back is covered in dog piss.  My beer got sprayed...everything.  Piss running down around my butt where I was sitting.  People are staring at me in complete shock.  I can only imagine how many people had sat there and watched me being peed on before I finally caught on.  Brilliant.

Game over.  Well.  That was fun.  I cried all the way home to Finance on the cell phone about how much 'I hate him!!!'. 

This is why I need Ceasar Milan.

Note To Self

When in Santiago, walk.

This is just the sort of shit I need to be reading before Finance and I head off for our trip around the world. 

Pornophobia

The man computer scares me.  The idea of either sharing a computer in our home someday (and I know it will happen) with Finance, OR EVEN the idea of him having his own private laptap, scares the fucking crap out of me.

I am so not even kidding you.  It seriously makes my heart flutter.  In a 'I'm going to vomit' kind of way. 

Have you ever looked thru your man's computer before?  His files, his 'secret folders', his 'history', 'his 'other' emails'.  ACK ACK ACK.  I would bet all the money I don't have (which is approx negative 25 dollars at the moment), that you would be surprised at some of the things you would find.

Seriously, I think just being in the same room as Finance's 'personal laptop'(and he doesn't even have one), would make me hyperventilate. 

My name is 'Stella' and I have MALE LAPTOP PORNOPHOBIA.

Houston, We Have a Problem

They just SHOWED UP and I don't know what do with them!  Please someone, make them go away...

And you can go ahead and add this item to my list of CRACK FOODS.  Fucking Girl Scouts.  DON'T THEY KNOW, there are WEDDINGS IN JULY???

'Boca Suave'

Is what they called me all weekend.  In attempt to explain to the sweet little (I'm talkin 4feet) woman cooking for us, that I did not care for anything spicy or hot.  Her name was Margarita.  She and her daughter Marcella, a beautiful woman about my age - came to our place every few days to cook and clean.  They were very patient with us and our gringo espanol.  Vern and I kept saying 'No verbos!' (pronounced, 'no bear-bose!').  We can use nouns all day, it's the verbos that are too much work.

Vern also took pleasure in looking up and telling the women that I was 'marcosas'.  A brat. 

While everyone ate the athentico cuisine, I stuck to tostido chips and guacamole.  And Gin and Tonics.  I had a brownie with ice cream at one cafe, some churros from a street vendor, and several pastries over the course of the trip.  There are pastry shops everywhere, but they have a fraction of the sweetness american desserts have.  One night after dinner out at this great restaurant we all ordered dessert. My apple strudel was shriveled up to the size of a silver dollar, Mr. Bucks chocolate cheesecake tasted like cardboard, Finance's cheesecake classico - tasted - no joke - like a block of cheddar cheese, and Vern had the most disgusting congealed/embryonic looking EXPRESSO/CAPPUCCINO JELLO shit I have ever in my life seen.  They wouldn't let me go to the Happy Chicken to eat.  Nor would they let me get any ice cream off the street.   Conclusion:  When in Mexico, eat Mexican.  Eat fruit for dessert unless you want to be seriously disappointed.

You should however, when you are in Meh-hee-co, drink Cafe Americano.  OMG.  It will become clear which country is drinking the mierda cafe.  Starbucks ain't got nothin on Cafe Americano. 

It is very popular to eat corn on a stick in San Miguel.  Corn on a stick with lots and lots of butter.  They wouldn't let me have that either.

The churches are cool but strange.  All the Jesus/Mary figures are outfitted like 1980's brides.  The style in general, is very interesting.  We caught a Flamenco performance which was very cool.  One of the dancers scared Vern.  She leaned over and whispered in my ear 'I bet that pussy bites'.  She TOTALLY SAID THAT TO ME.  And for the rest of the night we referred to her as the 'snapping turtle'.  I wish I had a picture of her. 

I have to give you more later.  So behind with work.

hasta la pasta.

 

Somedays I Need To Walk Away From Oprah

One of my worst nightmares, deepest anxieties, is being discussed on Oprah right now.    

Fucking hell.  Teenage online porn.  And webcams. A teenager on Oprah telling the world how all kids are on the internet, and that the kids are smarter than the securities placed out there to protect them...yadi yadi.  This mom is on there talking about how clueless she was because she TOTALLY trusted her son, and they had a great relationship.

I have to go puke now.  So help me, my poor children are going to be so bored.  they won't have SHIT in their rooms...being sent to their room will actually BE A PUNISHMENT.   no computers, fucking webcams, video games in their bedrooms.  wtf is that shit?  they will GO OUTSIDE TO PLAY.  they will learn they have skills and find hobbies, and they won't sit in front of the television all day eyes glazed over like krispy creme donuts.  they will hate me.  but that's tough love. 

And WE WONDER why kids are overweight, lethargic, and sucking in school?  Hmmmmmmmmmm.   

If you have ever looked at/part-taken in Child Pornography, I hope your dirty little wanker shrivels into a raisin and falls off one day. 

Sandbagged

I haven't really been concerned with my IT2Much review.  In fact, I almost forgot that I had submitted to them.  Okay I'm full of shit. 

I've had it bad for my review.  So much so that every day I have silently waited with my list...patient and in anticipation.  I notice not too long ago a new reviewer - Charred.  Sorry to say, but I haven't been too impressed with his/her?? reviews.  I thought, after all this time, I'll be damed if that's who winds up reviewing Zen.  2 smacks later, I get this shit?

“Grasshopper,
Quickly as you can, snatch the pebble from my hand...When you can take the pebble from my hand, it will be time for you to leave.”

Sound familiar?  It should, it’s from Kung Fu.  You know, the tv show that David Carradine managed to steal out from under Bruce Lee despite not being oriental or knowing Shaolin Chuan Fa (otherwise known as Kung Fu)?

Stella, your qi called and said it’s hiding in the Shaolin temple, under Master Kan’s protection.  Now you know where your qi’s been hiding all these years.  Maybe Grasshopper can help you get it back.

I feel like I finally made it to the front row of the new roller coaster after waiting in line for 3 hours, and they shut the bastard down for technical repairs and give me a free ticket to the TEACUPS.  WTF? 

So now I am just confused - trying to get the constructive criticism out of all this mess, am I THE GRASSHOPPER?  Or am I supposed to be looking for THE GRASSHOPPER to help me?  Or am I both?

 

Reporting From Atlanta, Georgia

I got ONE ACRONYM for you this morning...

   

Jesus Pancakes Are For Amateurs

WHATEVER!  Jesus can't be in that pancake, because he's in my shower.  HELLO!  Maybe I should sell my Jesus Tile on Ebay???  Besides.  EVERYONE has Jesus pancakes.  But you go and try and find you some Jesus shower tiles...bet ya won't find any.  BECAUSE HE'S CHILLIN IN MY BATHROOM!

   

Proud to be an American? Mmmmm... Not so much!

Some random reoccurring thoughts I have:

9/11.  A man sitting at his desk glancing away from his paperwork for a moment to look out his window, to see a jet airliner heading straight for his building.  A woman making a phone call to her husband knowing it is her last - that the words she is saying will be held on to and played over and over and over again in quiet nights alone by her loved ones, she is trapped and soon to be engulfed by flames.  The people who broke glass windows and stood waving for help, feeling the heat on their backs and smoke filled air on their faces, confronted with the decision of chosing their fate.  The jumpers.  What were they thinking the moment their feet left the building, what were their final thoughts, feelings...were they frightened, were they numb?  A child sitting in his mother's lap on a plane, old enough to know that something is wrong but not old enough to understand his life in this world was coming to an end.  What is so tragic to me about 9/11 is how torturous it must have been to have been given a death sentence before time ended.  To have had moments, minutes, time to make phone calls that would be FINAL, to sort through the path of your life and arrive to some place of understanding that death was waiting for you.  As I laid in bed for a week that year, recovering from a surgery, images on the television of 9/11 played over in my mind like a broken record - as did for many others.  But I have carried since a feeling as though the experience of 9/11 for the victims, for the people who were there that day, who helped, who held hands and wiped away tears, is something my sorrow cannot even comprehend.  And even more powerful than understanding, or desiring to carry some of the burden of that pain, is the triumph.  Surviving the images.  Surviving the phone calls, the death, the exhaustion, the guilt, the smell, to experience hell on earth and emerge as a survivor.  Some days I think about it, and it makes my feet feel very heavy.  It makes my heart ache.

The auto industry pisses me off.  And knowing the answer to this next question pisses me off even more.  YOU WOULD THINK at the rate we are depleting the worlds natural resources, and greenhouse, the ozone...etc etc....some smart person would completely revamp transportation.  Goodbye SUV's, convertibles, fancy stupid cars no one needs, goodbye FUCKING HUMMER LIMMO WITH SPINNING RIMS THAT MAKE ME WANT TO VOMIT AS IM SITTING AT A STOP LIGHT.  Goodbye Ford, Jeep, Volkswagon, Chrysler, Volvo, Lincoln, and every other auto manufactuer out there making idiots of us all.  No more bells and whistles, useless package add ons' no one needs, goodbye toys and tv's in your headrests, dashbord buttons that only distract you from driving...let's go back to the drawing board.  What is the purpose of a car?  To get you from A to B quicker than it would take to walk eh?  Not to entertain you on the way, or impress others because yours is bigger, brighter, faster, or louder.  Now lets build the most ENERGY EFFICIENT vehicle, and give everyone custom color options.  Done.  Now I know that lavender/pink 'one' in the parking lot is mine.  End of story.  Why not?  Wouldn't be a very profitible industry now would it?  Sure as hell would help our oil crisis, sure as hell would keep us more focused on DRIVING and less focused on entertaining ourselves and everyone else.  Sure as hell would allow me to see 5 cars in front of me because I don't have to look at your stoopid HUMMER. 

And the sad thing is.  This could be the inspiration for a million other arguments...on how screwed up we are.  How maddening it is living in a country with a $8,201,608,558,623.45 dollar deficit, so many BELLS AND WHISTLES, so much WASTE we can't buy NEW quick enough.  Shit becomes obsolete before you even get to use it.  Corporate America has another shiny new something dangled in your face so fast, you don't know where your dollars have gone.  ACK ACK.  It is totally embarrassing to consume so much, have debt like that, and then wonder why the rest of the world - particular the ones in third world countries think we are assholes.  No one should be hungry in the world.  The state of the world is so jacked. 

Here is another thing that pisses me off.  People like Angelina Jolie and Nicole Kidman, Matthew Mc.CANTSPELLHISLASTNAME, Leonardo DiCaprio and all the other big celebrities with their fat wallets getting interested in Global Issues.  Becoming spokesman, activists, global role models.  Guess what?  I don't give a RATS ASS why they are doing it.  We need more people like them gaining media attention doing what they are doing, because as long as we continue to ingore how ugly things really are, it's only going to continue to get worse.  It's that out of sight out of mind.  If it's not in our country it's not our problem, unless of course you 'might' have nuclear weapons.  Then we care.  And even when it is going on in our backyard, as long as it's not in OUR neighborhood.  It's not our problem.

ACK.

Zazzafooky wrote on the 'Lottery System'...and J and A and I were discussing this at stitch and bitch night last night.  She really nailed it.  Makes you want to have nothing to do with the morons in charge.  Makes me nervous as hell embarking on trip around the world as an American.

So here's the thing.  I typically stay out of these kind of conversations, nor do I offer my opinion...because I have always felt that having a strong opinion about something is obvious, it's EASY!  We all have them!  But I have generally always figured, if you were going to make a claim, or take a strong position on any given issue, you must be prepared to act.  And I am too lazy to do anything!  I can't stand it when people lament about something for the sake of an argument.  B/c whats the point?  Aside from engaging others in intelligent discussion about topical issues...isn't the real goal to make change? 

I fear that, the reason why we are where we are...is because the majority of us run around blowin' about how 'we feel' this way or another...with no follow thru!  The actions aren't consistent with the platforms.  And I don't want to be a walking contradiction right?  So I'll get into my Volvo at the end of the day, and I'll go home and watch my raunchy primetime shows, and flush down leftovers, throw my wine bottles in with the rest of the trash, let the water from the faucet run as I brush my teeth and leave the fan on in the vacant family room before I go to bed.  And there I represent most.  Willing to bitch, unwilling to DO SOMETHING about it.  And so without a GLOBAL shift in the way live our lives as a collective whole...how on earth do we make it all a better place?

So I guess, the deeper question is...  Can one person REALLY make a difference?  I dont' think so.  And maybe that makes me a pessimist, but I think our global concerns are too advanced.  Can I make a difference, by feeding the homeless on Thanksgiving?  Maybe.  Can I make a difference by financially assisting someone less fortunate, sure.  But can I make a difference in how we run our economy?  Or how we as American's spend money?  I think it it will take a revolution to bring on the kind of changes that might have the POTENTIAL for us to start living our lives OUTSIDE our bubbles.  With greater compassion for our neighbors, and more respect for our natural resources.

Ack.  Okay.  NOW, IM REALLY DONE.

   

Never Trust a Man who....

1  whose name is Ocean.

2  has a brother named River

3  has a sister named Praire (FUCKING) Wind.  You heard me.

4  aspires to be an 'Erotic Artist'.

5  takes pictures of other naked chics for his 'portfolio'. 

6  masturbates more than once a day.

7  whose excuse for excessive masturbation is to build stamena.

8  buys you sex toys for your flippin birthday (when dinner would have been just fine).

9  has a firefighters uniform, just because.

10 has a strobe light, a black light, and a disco ball in his bedroom regulated by a CLAPPER (Clap on Clap off...).

11 buys you 3 dozen roses THE DAY AFTER VALENTINES DAY, because they are cheaper.

12 When you drive by the 'OK Cafe' on your way thru Florida, he's not kidding when he says 'Let's go!'.

13 stages a 'photoshoot' involving you, and a 4 foot blow up Oscar Meyer Weiner hot dog.  And you think to yourself 'I am so special'. 

14 whispers into your ear one night 'I want babies with you', to which you reply 'but we're not even married?', to which he replies, 'who cares?, all you need is love!'. 

21 drives a car that was manufactured in 1969.

15 leaves the top 4 buttons of the classic Thrift Store/Quido/Pimp shirts HE ALWAYS WEARS, UNBUTTONED revealing his 4 pathetic prepubecent chest hairs.

Hillary, anything you'd like to add here?  My god, blog people..the two of us, could write a book about dating the infamous 'Water Boys'.

Crazy

College kids with too much time on their hands.

This is great.

Snore...zzzzzzzzzzz

Finance leaves me every morning around 3am to go to the guest bedroom because he can't take my snoring.  This isn't good for my abandonment issues. 

And because I have anxiety, I am already worried about little Charleigh and Max (the children we don't have yet) asking why mommy and daddy don't sleep together. 

I have tried all the Breathe Right crap - spray and nose strips.  Been tested for sleep apnea, which I don't have, and Finance has tried ear plugs.  No success.  So I guess the next step is to try drowning the noise out with a sleep machine.  Any suggestions?  I'm not having surgery.  Thats crap.

Seriously, I wake up pissed every morning and feeling like quasi moto.  This is not cool.

Red Flag Number 9

At the encouragement of my friend OMWF...I offer to you a personal story of love, loss, and sleeping with rodents.  This is a story usually told after lots of drinks to a bunch of strangers, egged on by a friend who has heard it before. 

It was a typical weekday my Junior year in college.  I was dating The Porn Star (after 3 months of dating he bought me a FLIPPING VIBRATOR for my birthday - red flag number 5).  He was one of 4 white boys who attended FAMU, on an athletic scholarship.  He and his identical twin - the one Hillary dated who I claimed we had tag teamed as I gave my wedding toast - were runners.  They shared a house with another FAMU student in the ghetto.  I am not even kidding you.  It was not uncommon to hear about the neighbor's crack habit on the news, or the 2dolla hoe down the street.  The house was old and full of crap.  The boys were big dealers.  They were self proclaimed Renaissance men...artists, photographers, salesmen, and lovers.  They made a living buying other peoples abandoned and repo'ed shit, and then selling it to make a dollar.  Their living room looked like the set of Let's Make a Deal'.  They only shopped at Costco, so making dinner had to involve a supersize jar of peanut butter and/or frozen chicken strips.  Are you feeling me?

Some nights I stayed at his place, others he stayed at mine.  I hated staying at his place.  It was dirty, dank, RANK, littered with porn, and in the ghetto.  Hard to sleep with gun shots and police sirens going off at night.  This particular night we were at his place.

Ok.  There are some things you need to know about his bedroom.  God I wish I had a picture.  DISCO BALL, you heard me, hanging from the ceiling.  Multi-colored strobe light in the corner with various rotating themes.  A blacklight, and A CLAPPER to orchestrate all the lighting effects.  One clap turned the normal bedroom lights on and off.  Two claps turned the black light on.  Three claps got the disco ball rotating and 4 claps for the strobe.  Red flags 1, 2, 3, and 4.   I could never get it all straight.  I mean, he had to impress all the women he brought back to his lair somehow...  The room was about 10 X 10 with a California King size waterbed pushed up in one corner.  A 13inch TV stacked ontop a bunch of crates in one corner.  And priceless 'artwork' and photographs of me half naked on the walls.  When your boyfriend asks to take a picture of you wearing a cowboy hat and sitting on a blow up Oscar Meyer Wiener dog - it's NOT - CUTE.  It's NOT - LOVE.  And its NOT - SMART.

So there we are sleeping.  He on the side up against the wall.  I am awoken by a scratching sound.  Not sure if I am really hearing it, or dreaming it...I ignore it.  Moments later the sound is louder and more definite.  I sit up and look over to Porn Star who is deep in slumber.  I notice something dark and MOVING behind his white pillow.  Surely I am on crack.  Surely there is nothing ALIVE under his pillow.  I am thinking to myself...if there is a rodent under his pillow and I turn the actual lights on, I am going to shit a gold brick.  So I decided to turn the black light on...to lighten the blow of potential rodent activity.  I clapped.  The strobe light came on.  Fucking hell.  I clapped again, thinking how many fucking claps to get the damn black light on???!!!! Now the black light AND the strobe are shining on The Porn Star with a moving pillow under his head.  OMG.  I am seriously about to have heart failure. 

I wake him up and we get out of bed.  He goes and wakes up his twin who is sleeping in the other room with Hillary.  They search the house frantically for weapons.  They find baseball bats and return to the bedroom with the moving pillow.  The lights are on, the pillow is moving, we have confirmation that there is in fact SOMETHING alive that was sleeping in that bed with us.  Fucker.

I am in the adjacent kitchen STANDING on the counter top in my undies peering around the corner into the room, YELLING AND SCREAMING....pissed off as all hell and crying.  They determine a plan to uncover the 'thing', and off comes the pillow yielding a large toothed, pissed off, UGLY ASS, 20lb (ok so maybe it wasn't quite that big...but it wasn't no baby - it was definitely baby's mama)...

POSSUM.

Ya heard me.

A flippin possum.  Chillin.  In our waterbed.  It had crawled up from the crawlspace under the house to get warm.  In bed.

**I have disturbed a few folks with my violent imagery, and therefore edited all the gory details, because this story was not supposed to be about a rodent massacre, it is supposed to be about how stupid I was for dating a Porn Star**  The possum was removed.

Anyway, the point is it was all his fault.  Because he had to live in the ghetto.  Because in my perfect, pretty little slice of Tallahassee, where 19 year old girls live in town-homes with alarms and have screens on the windows, I didn't have to check my god damned pillows for possums.  And you better believe that every night for the next 6 months, I was checking my pillows in my own home - and I was pissed.

And there you have, flag number 9.

Moral of the story?  Be leary of a white boy who lives in the ghetto, sells used furniture out of his home, has a disco ball operated by a CLAPPER in his bedroom, subscribes to various pornographic mail order catalogs, and asks to take pictures of you naked.  With a blow up hot dog.   

 

District of Caroline

weighs in on State of the Union...

Please read this funny ass shit.

A Wise Woman Once Said...

Don't ever succumb to the urge to fart when you are REALLY Sick.  YOU KNOW what I'm talkin' about.  It's NOT GAS.

Rest assured, if your ass is at any point ABOVE YOUR HEAD for extended periods of time during sex, when it returns to it's proper place in the world, you WILL QUEEF. 

Visits to the gynecologist can often times produce similar results.  Minus the sex.  The claw is just wrong.  Lets have a look shall we?

 

WTF?  What the hell is up with these things anyway?   They look like puppets.  They look like shoe horns, or orthodontic appliances, torture devices...  I remember the first time I ever went in for an annual, I was PETRIFIED b/c I hadn't had sex yet, and when she pulled that thing out of the drawer I feared for my life.  I asked 'Do you have one of those for virgins?'.  She did.  She had a tiny one ~ for beginners...BWAHHHHHHH!!!!!!! The fact that it still looked bigger than any tampon I'd ever used, was concerning. 

Gentleman, remember this photograph next time your woman tells you she's going in for her Annual, or to visit her OBGYN.  Understand that she has just been accosted by a talking stainless steel puppet, with a BIG MOUTH.  In her vagina.  Dinner should do just fine. 

**Update.  Tom, that is just damn SPOOKY...**

Just Call

Dear Mens,

I am about to tell you something that will get you laid more often.  It's REALLY REALLY SIMPLE.  And the sooner you get it figured out...the happier your woman will be.  And we all know that a happy woman, is a happy man.  Now.  You may have heard this before, and you may have thought it too much work...but I'm here to tell you it is SO EFFECTIVE.  So...write it down, take a picture...I don't give a fuck.  Here you go:

CALL.

Thats it.  C-A-L-L.  When your woman says call.  CALL.  Find a phone, we don't care if its yours or not, and CALL.  If you are going to be late.  CALL.  If you are stuck in a traffic jam and its going to be an hour until you get home, CALL.  If you are out in the woods and a beaver starts chewing on your leg and your buddies have to take you to the ER, CALL.  If you are out with your friends, having a good time, and the time you agreed you would be home with your woman is slowly approaching and you want to stay out late...CALL.  If your woman asks you for nothing more than 1 phone call a day when you are away on business or PLAYING ON ROCKS in the desert for weeks, CALL.  If you get too drunk, CALL.  WHEN IN DOUBT....whats the word?  CALL!!!

When you call...this is what happens.  We think you care.  We think you are thinking about us.  We think you are considerate.  We think that you are holding your end up of the bargain.  We think that you have respect for our time.  We think that you get that you are in relationship and its not just about you.  We are happy you are honest with us, and usually wind up being more generous and understanding towards your needs.  It's a win win...really.  But you have to call.

And thats how you get more sex.  You will forever only get laid once a month, until you figure this out.  I PROMISE you good things come to those who call.  I also promise you that when you don't call when you have been asked to call, you will be in the shithouse. 

Sincerely,

A wise woman.

How much of your life do you spend in your CAR?

En route to work this a.m. my morning show was heavily immersed in a hot topic about traffic in Atlanta.  Apparently I am not the only one with road rage in this city.   People were calling in, stuck in traffic, bitching about how it was the last straw, that they had finally decided they were either moving into the city, or moving to different state altogether.  One woman called to say she had just put in her notice at work and that she was moving to Portland.  Another called to say that she and her husband had decided they would be buying a condo in town in addition to their home outside the city.  I get road rage sitting in traffic for more than 20 mins and there is but 4 miles that separates my work and my home.  I can't even begin to sympathize with folks who wake up at 6am from places JUST OUTSIDE the city...were talking within 20 miles, and spend HOURS in their cars sitting in traffic getting to and from work.  I would sooner have fat injected into my thighs. 

You think I have it good?  Finance, runs his own business less than 3 MILES from our home.  He gets to work between noon and 3p and comes home after 11pm.  On the rare occasion we meet for lunch, I seriously fear he is going to go into cardiac arrest.  It's almost as though he lives in a different city.  Finance has no concept of 'rush hour'.  And by the way people...rush hour in atlanta occurs between 6a and 7pm.  It should be called the 13 HOUR YOU'RE IN HELL ZONE. Watching him writhe in frustration at the idea that people 'do this' every day for HOURS makes me laugh.  I usually say 'Welcome to Atlanta'.  I imagine he would rather have fat injected into his thighs than work a 9-5 ANYWHERE. 

This is part of the reason why we are moving.  We are done with the big city.  This is why I love Montana so much.  You can complain about a 30 minute drive to the qeneral store for some milk, but at least your car is MOVING the whole time, you get there without thoughts of bodily harm, and the deer can't yell obscenities at you for cutting them off.

Lower Fat My Ass

The ONLY thing LOWER about the Starbucks "Lower Fat Blueberry Coffee Cake" will be my ass after I'm done eating this thing.  I think what they meant to say was "Lower Crack Blueberry Coffee Cake"...

LOWER FAT RELATIVE TO WHAT??  Is what I want to know.  Did this recipie orginally call for 20 sticks of butter, and they reduced it to 19...rendering it "LOWER FAT"?  Now, I've never claimed to be the sharpest tack in the box, but the last TRUELY low fat cake/muffin/pie/sweet I had - tasted like a rice cake.  The Starbucks "Lower Fat Blueberry Coffee Cake" is crack.  You can add that to my list.

When Is Big, TOO BIG?

A monday update.

Ok.  That Lisa chick on Dancing with the Stars - has swollen vagina lips on her face, and its distracting from her performances.  I just don't understand it.  Like Michael Jackson's nose eh?  WTF?  When is big - TOO BIG and small...TOO SMALL?  I suppose its all relative...however, someone needs to tell that woman she has swollen vagina lips on her face....for god sakes.

Now, the blonde chick...the pro wrestler girl.  She IS beautiful.  I hope she wins.  I'm not even going to talk about Master P.

Saw the movie MATCH POINT last night with J.  It was worth the 38 dollar tickets (j/k).  And DAMN when did going to see a movie cost more than my monthly gym membership?  Go see it.  It was good.  I got to feel the baby kick a few times...I'm living vicariously through her pregnancy.

I also started my new knitting project.  It's a poncho, and I was in bed knitting until 3am, it was like a good book I couldn't put down.  Only...I don't read so much.  It amazes me I have found the attention and patience to knit through a project...considering books are so difficult for me.  Maybe one of these days I'll actually graduate from the garter stitch and get my Pearl on. (clearly a NOVICE knitter considering I can't even spell the damn word.  thank you AINH.)  I hate the pearl. PURL.

Ok, this post officially just got boring.  And I must abort.  Maybe I'll become inspired after coffee....or a trip to the bathroom (eewwwwww yuck...oh whatever GET OVER IT!  just admit, you have brilliant thoughts whilst on the shitter TOO!!!).  You never know. Toodles.

CRACK-Fil-a

I am the gluttonous heffer, that gets the #7 at Chic-fila...

You know.  The one with the sandwhich, the fries (and as if that weren't enough ass lard), THE FLIPPIN COLESLAW!!!  God have mercy on my lovehandles.

Undulating Scrotum

This weekend whilst the Cannon's were visiting...we had a few interesting discussions about the male package.  Hillary explained how grossed out she was by the scrotums unique characteristics.  The undulating scrotum does not impress her.  I pointed out that I was fascinated by how much control a man has over his balls.  The way a man can exercise his balls.  It's quite a performance.  The skin has never bothered me so much, but the 'undulating' factor is not the most attractive thing I have ever seen.  Cannon was explaining to me why men are constantly fucking around with their balls.  Adjusting...readjusting....massaging....whatever.  With a look of confusion he asked me why it was such a mystery considering I have two big balls on my chest.  I replied "Yes, my dear friend...but I DONT have two sagging hairy balls on my chest."  If I had two sagging hairy titties perhaps I could understand the mystery of the mans need to constantly fondle and manipulate his own.  We were out to dinner with a woman who was a nurse.  She quickly interjected the medical explanation for why the scrotum undulates and the balls play dissapearing acts into the bo-sack.  I was on my fourth drink and it didn't really impress me...however it is good to know that the balls and scrotum have purpose beyond housing the sperm farm....because DAMN THAT SHIT IS UGLY.  Quite fascinating stuff people.  What were you talking about at dinner this weekend???

Crazybitches Suck

Oh how I don't envy being single and dating.

A Ross Recovery

Who needs Buffalo Jeans when you can have THESE for $15?

and yes.  the widows peak is BACK.  and holy fuck, it totally looks like my fly is open (but its not...see englargement).  AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!!

I Need Monogrammed Panties People

Last night we had Sunday dinner with Vern and Mr. Buck.  We had ribs.  The kind of ribs you might whore yourself out for if it was your last meal.  Then they made me watch The Duke Game.  Proper.  It's like a cult.  And I don't like basketball.  I asked Vern if I could slip away for a few minutes to 'check my email' on her computer...the room then called Bullshit on me b/c they knew that was just an excuse to check my blog.  Finance played me some violins about how 'if i slipped away during family quality time to look at climbing stats I'd never hear the end of it.'  I resigned myself to Duke basketball. (B-O-R-I-N-G.  I could have just watched the last 2 mins and it would have been enough).  When the game was over, I bolted for the den. 

This morning I arrive to work at 8:30.  At 8:35am I get a phone call from Vern.

Vern: Good morning.  Did you leave your thongs in my den last night?

Me:  Excuse me?

Vern:  Did you for some reason take your panties off last night while you were on the computer?

Me:  Umm... for starters, what the hell do you think I was down there doing?  Secondly could a girl get a cup of coffee before she gets accused of leaving her panties at other peoples houses?

Vern:  Well, you were down there for a long time.  Barty came up the stairs this morning with a pair of chewed up white thongs in her mouth and I don't wear thongs.  I just don't know where they came from??

Me:  I promise you I kept my panties on the entire time. 

Vern.  What does Mr. Buck have to say about all this??  Maybe HE KNOWS whose panties those are??? Maybe Minnie Driver left them?

Crack. It's what's for dinner!

You know what I'm talking about.

On todays menu...we have a MUNCH (hehe) bar, a nutty butty bar (okay...i won't lie, that sounds deceiving...because there are actually 2 nutty butty barS per package), and a Mountain Dew.

Which reminds me of things that are highly processed, full of fat and so damn good.  I present to you my top ten list of incredibly satanic foods I am convinced are made with hydroponic weed laced with CRACK.  In no particular order.

1. Nutty Butty Bars
2. Taco Bells Double Decker Taco Supreme (minus tomatoes with extra sour cream)
3. Take 5 Bars
4. Taco Bells Caramel Apple Pie
5. Mc Donalds Big Mac
6. Ben and Jerry's Chubby Hubby Ice Cream
7. Girl Scout Cookie Thin Mints
8. Bruesters Hot Fudge Sundae with PEANUT BUTTER SAUCE
9. Vern's Ribs
10. Houston's Cheeseburgers
11. Okay so I lied.  Its a top 11 list.  How could I have forgotten...RANCH DRESSING?

What are your coke laced hydroponic weed infested foods?  All blog idols must invited to play (im working on this...jayne says i can be a bit demanding sometimes).  Except for Dooce.  She's been busy lately...you know with Vogue and all.  I'll let her pass on this one. 

FUCKARDS!

'13 year old girls fucking in porn.'

i'm feeling a little dirty this morning having gotten traffic from someone looking for the above.

sick fuckards. (my new word for a bastard fucker.)

i'm sure the last thing they expected to stumble apon was my soapbox.

The Virgin Mary is In My Shower

You all have no idea what a hay day I am having with this story. Courtesy of my dearest Kat.  We both apologize for the link origination, unfortunately I could not find the story anywhere else.

Latest thoughts swirling through my head:

• if i were president, i would make hospital child delivery costs and having a decent funeral FREE. 
• i came across a blog that posed this same question.  i wonder how different or alike, the male orgasm is compared to the female orgasm? because what is interesting is that, apparently the female orgasm really serves little purpose as does the males.  we were given the ability merely for pleasure.  ha!
• i think jenna elfman is beautiful.
• i want to get some of Debbie Bliss's Alpaca Silk yarn for my next knitting project.
• i watched jack osbourne summit El Cap after losing like 40 lbs last night and that was pretty friggin impressive. 
• i can't wait to go to Easter Island.
• Vern is getting me the veil that I really really wanted that looks like it was MADE for my Lazaro dress, but was too expensive.  i'm a lucky girl.  if i can find a picture of it, ill post it.  it is the most exquisite thing i have ever seen...we might have to put it in a shadowbox when its all over--its that incredible.
• Finance and I are entertaining the thought of settling down on a farm in Tuscany. maybe having a rose crop or something.  mmmmmmmmmmmm.  i want to be barefoot and pregnant on a vineyard in Tuscany.  we could do anything we put our minds to.
• The Virgin Mary is in my shower, and lately I've noticed she appears to be bending over.  she's ALWAYS there.  What does this mean??? 

   

Ethnic Tuesday

Because I was feeling generous last night...I took Finance to one of his favorite MEXICAN (the horror!) restuarants.  As we were sitting there, he with his #2 combo of about 20 different a la carte items, and I with a flour tortilla filled with chicken (CRACKER), extra sour cream (CRACKER), lettuce (CRACKER), and cheese (CRACKER ASS CRACKER), which needed a half a shaker of salt for flavoring, Finance turned to me and said:

Finance: 'This is crap.  You are going to weigh 50lbs wet when we come back from our trip if you don't start eating some REAL food.  I bet those Mexicans were laughing their asses off in the kitchen with that order.  You won't last 5 days in India and I will not let you eat at McDonalds!  So from now on, I am taking you out for ethnic food on Tuesday nights.'

Me: 'Whatever, as long as I don't have to pay for it.'

Finance: 'We'll call it Ethnic Tuesday's....'

His eyes lit up and he started rolling his fingers across eachother by his mouth like Gargamel from the Smurfs mummbling words like 'THAI' and 'ETHIOPIAN'.  He also tells me I'm not allowed to order bread.

This will be a game to him.  And he will love every savory moment watching me writhe in my seat as my tongue explores new flavors.  I on the other hand, will likely be spending my tuesday nights on the toilet as my body knows, AND WANTS, nothing of these things.  I mean, the mere thought of CURRY makes me weak.  (not that I know what it tastes like, but it sounds to me like a SPICE!)

Good times.

Hoochies On Parade Part II

I couldn't resist.  It just fell out of the attic and into my bed this morning.  This is a horrible scan, but I'm sure it will do.  SCREWDRIVER anyone???

'Get your thyroid checked out'

If you go to the Montel Williams show expecting the great Sylvia Browne to tell you why your heart has been fluttering, your ingrown hair won't go away, or you've been having lots of migraine headaches, she will tell you to get your Thyroid checked out.  I promise you.  I love it.   

My Son Is A Heterosexual?!!!

If you liked 'You From a Tribe Bitch, RUN!', you will love this.

But I wanted the Marshmellow and Hot Chocolate Gift Package!!!

You are never going to guess what I ended up with at the White Elephant Xmas Exchange party here at work today?

Oh yes.  Thats right.  A FUCKING MCDONALDS GIFTCARD.

Get out of Jail Free Card

Marley got and used his Get Out of Jail Free Card last night.  He sprung for an evening of debauchery I'm sure.  He has been humping zoe with such vigor and determination lately, which is really out of character for Marley.  Marley is usually the humpee, not the humper.  Zoe is the alpha dog.  Marley is merely her toy, most of the time.  But about 2 weeks ago he started gettin' on her.  So much so that we really had to yell at him sometimes because it was just plain wrong.  Well, this might explain his great escape last night, and I'm really hoping he got some ass while he was gone.  I let them out last night in the back yard, while I was cooking, and he was all like 'peace out yo!'.  Finance came home from work and we drove around the neighborhood for awhile looking for him.  Went to bed minus one, and I think Zoe was a little depressed.  But I found him this morning.  Apparently he had shacked up in a neighbors back yard with his new friend Otis.  Who I am hoping is a dude, otherwise we might have some mutts on our hands real soon.  Which brings me to two conclusions.....A) marley is in heat and cannot be trusted to 'come back' after taking care of business, and B) there is a reason why people put tags on their dogs.

Of honorable mention...Cornoholio was very distraught when she heard the news this morning and she ran out and made flyers to plaster around our neighborhood (she is a realtor and those bitches don't have that 9-5 shiat).  Well, I called to hault her mission because I realized that I should do the flyers because she probably didn't have any good pictures of marley.  Well, silly me.  All the pictures she has of Marley are the ones where her kids have dressed him up, and they were just as good as any in her opinion...so as a result, poor marley's mug is all over the neighborhood in a cape and sunglasses.  Will they think he's a freak?  No, they'll think I'm a freak.  And I didn't do that to him!

and im still sick as shit.  bah humbug.

Xmas Shopping and Road Trip Ass Wars

You might be a brat if you go to Marshalls to buy Xmas Gifts and find nothing but a Red Coat for yourself that you have to have but can't afford so you put it on layaway and call your mother inlaw to let her know it's there 'just in case'.

Do any of you go to places like Target, Ross, or Marshalls and spend hours filling your cart and make the slow trek towards the checkout only to realize as you start adding up all your items that A) you might not be able to buy your pets dogfood if you get those shoes, and B) do you REALLY NEED any of those things??  So you go thru all the negotiations and justifications, the mad debate that is Needs Vs. Wants, and suddenly you are shoving candles in between pillows and putting shoes on the pots and pans rack (or at least I do, Finance would take them each back to where they came from...).  I can't tell you how many times I have walked out of a store having spent sometimes hours making executive decisions such as the Sandlewood or Pear Spice candle?, the black Nine West bag or the brown Kenneth Cole?, you can never have too many couch throws right?, going from 4 pairs of shoes to one and then back to three, ONLY to walk out with a pair of $10 dollar sunglasses.  Those places are evil because they have everything you think you need! 

I was in line at Target the other day (and dammit I tried on some bras and I made sure to rub my naked bosoms AND my perfume ALL OVER THEM!), behind a woman who was doing the whole item by item subtotal thing.  It was clear she had a spending limit.  She had two items left in her cart.  A box of laundry detergent and a purse.  I watched as she stood there tapping her acrylic nails on the counter for a moment and then she grabbed the purse out of the cart.  The cashier said 'Do you want the detergent?', she said 'nah, I'll get it some other time'.  And you know what, I could feel her pain!!!  It's tough when you are down to a need vs. a want.

When I go somewhere, I am the person who circles the parking lot for a half hour waiting for one of the 5 front row spaces.  Finance will park it 2 miles down the road and I sware he does it just to piss me off.  In fact, I think he does lots of things to 'razz' me so he can humor himself in watching me suffer.  For example, when he farts in the car after eating Mexican or chili and I start gagging with my head out the window he L-O-V-E-S IT!!!!!  He is SO amused by the fact that his ass is so powerful it makes me gag.  So while I am struggling to keep my food down, ohhhhhh he laughs does he laugh.  Now on the RARE occasion that I actually have gas in the car, and especially after broccolli, he doesn't bat an eyelash.  And I will think its the most hysterical thing...because Im convinced its payback and I'll 'really get him!' until I suddenly realize that I have just screwed myself because we are only 15 mins into a 3 hour drive. He'll turn to me and declare something about how if I 'Mess with the bull' I'll get the horns or some shit and I should be very afraid.  And the truth is...I AM.  Believe me people when I tell you THAT SHIT AIN'T RIGHT.

The last thing I need in my stocking is a damn Happy Meal

Xmas's will be so easy now that I can buy my friends and family MCDONALDS GIFT CARDS!!!!

I mean, whats more exciting than the gift of fast food? 

'Let Me Clear My Throat'

Did I just go there?  yeah...I totally went there.  I must have blacked out.  I don't think Zen can handle social politics.  I digress.  I must have forgotten to take my medication this morning.  Sorry folks, but Stella has an extremely straight edged inner feminist she's been working very diligently with (THRU LOTS AND LOTS OF THERAPY AND BUDDHIST MEDITATION TUTORIALS) to help find the CHI.  Remember???  It won't happen again...I pLomise. (and that wasn't a typo).

How You Gonna Steal Baby's First Xmas?

Finance and I got our xmas tree the other night.  She's a big one too.  An 8 footer!  We were super excited to go thru our childhood ornaments together and put them on our great fraser fur.  My ex-roomate had been holding my box of xmas things at my old place and I had recently picked them up.  He had mentioned something to the effect of, "you must have some of your ornaments because there are not a whole lot in here", I said "no I know there wasn't a whole lot to begin with, this is it!".  We chit chatted it up for awhile, I admired his tree...we talked about Britney Spears and the gay community of atlanta.  We talked about his new job, and how his boss is rich and gives him lots of toys.  Including his new MAC computer and IPOD which he pulled out to show me.  Then I went thru his music collection on the MAC and burned a mixed cd for myself while he convinced me that I HAD TO HAVE the latest Britney remix album.  Good times.

Fast foward back to Stella and Finance's first xmas tree decorating ceremony.  Finance pulls out his BABYS FIRST XMAS 1976.  It is the classic satin thread-covered ball with a Precious Moment on it and the date.  We all have them...and so did I.  I think to myself 'oh, I have Babys First Xmas too...1978'.  I rummage thru my ornaments...and can't find it.  Not only is Babys First Xmas missing, so is Babys 2nd Xmas, the Elf on the Log, and several others.  So, as Finance is bouncing around the tree rejoicing in the glory of each of his oh so special ornaments, I am sitting on the floor watching all MY pieces of tree real estate getting sold out to Baby Finance.  Finance steps back to admire his work and says 'OH MY...LOOK HOW WONDERFUL IT LOOKS!'.  This isn't right. 

Last night I get a phone call from my other roomate who has since moved out and is living on his own.  Here goes part of our conversation.

J:  I heard you visited A the other day?

Me:   Yeah, I had to get my xmas ornaments.  It's strange though there were half as many in there than I expected and I can't for the life of me find the rest of my ornaments.  especially Babys First Xmas. i just don't remember if i had already picked up another box last year...

J:  I think some of your ornaments are on A's tree because I was over there the other day and we were commenting about them.  I'm pretty sure your Babys First Xmas is on there, but A said it was his because he was born in 1978 too.  And the Elf on the Log and the Star and the Strawberry Shortcake...

BASTARD!  How you gonna steal someone else's BABYS FIRST XMAS and claim it as your own??  I'm totally crashing their xmas party and their tree tomorrow night.

Dog Farts and Control Top Panty Hose

This morning I poured myself into a pair of tights to go on under my slacks for work and I think I may have cracked a rib.  A rib? you ask?  Yes, a rib.  Remember, I told you once...I have no hips.  So those tights go straight to my boobs.  Well, maybe not that far.  But close enough for me to have felt like I may have cracked a rib.  Then I put my pants on and they felt 2 sizes too big.  Perhaps I picked up the damn 'Control - Your Legs, Ass, Backfat, AND Stomach - Top Tights'. There is about 2 inches of fat rolled over the waistband like a damn muffintop.  Okay, so maybe its just a 1/4 inch.  But still.  Any fat that gets relocated and held into place by elastic isn't pretty.

Last night while Finance read his book and I knitted Marley rose from the floor and assumed his best Downward Facing Dog.  He slowly rises the hind legs up with his butt straight up in the air while in the front he still looks like he is laying down, and you can actually see him extend those front paws as tight as he can.  And then he farts.  Almost ALWAYS.  And as we were sitting there on the couch in the dead of silence and Marley did his stretch he farted and we HEARD IT.  And you know how funny a dogs fart is when you actually HEAR IT, because most of the time you just smell it.  But it was that 'PHHHFFFFFFFFF' of air, because there are no ass cheeks close enough together to make it sound more interesting...at least, not on Marley -- The Hindu Cow.  I love it. 

More later.  I'm just getting started.  Must get coffee and ohhh, I don't know...WORK?

Holy Crap.

Because I am 90% positive that the woman pictured in this Northwest Advertisement's handicap is NOT that her face has congealed into her neck, and because this is a marketing pamphlet and my assumption is that she not only agreed to have her photo taken, but CHOSE THIS PARTICULAR PHOTO to be mass produced and on display for the world to enjoy...I do not feel badly for using it as the following example of horror.

Finance and I missed our flight out to Minneapolis and were left standing at the check in counter to get scheduled on the next flight.  I noticed a bunch of pamphlets on the counter and one in particular caught my eye.  Shortly there after I picked up the pamphlet and as I gazed at this womans' photograph I almost started to cry in horror over the striking similarites between her and the Captain Morgan Face.  I turned to Finance and said 'Holy Fucking Shit, Look!  It's me in 20 years after a fifth of Captain....hold me.'

Please please please dear god, let this just be a woman whose handicap has not been the result of too much Captain Morgan causing permenent facial distortion. 

Let's have another look shall we at WCMAYF:

And now....Northwest representive without neck.  ARE YOU FEELING ME DOG?

   

The Quiet Before The Storm

Somethings a brewin' over there at Socrates, I KNOW IT!!!  If you listen very carefully you might hear the devious laughter of the bangcloghooch somewhere in Florida typing and uploading away on her little computer.  beotch.

OHHHHHH...but I did.

May I present to Blog Universe...

HOOCHIES ON PARADE

THIS my friends, is where Hillary still thinks she is.  THIS is why Hillary crys when I wear Birkenstocks.  THIS is what happens when you think 5 inch CLOGS are cool (and I know your little 2 inch delicate Ann Taylor pumps are gasping at the sight of those hideous things).  THIS is why Hillary wants to know if the band can learn how to play 'BACK THAT ASS UP' at the wedding.  THIS is what happens when you think Icehouse will get you drunker quicker because its STRONG BEER! YEAH! OWWW! and where is that Screwdriver you were drinking HP?  Oh, and LOVE THE BANGS!!!  These were also the days when I could throw the ninnies into a teeny weeny 5-7-9 top without padded assistance, and wear skirts up to my eyeballs because 4 years of Natty Light Keg beer had yet to accumulate on my thighs.  And I must say, my legs look HOT!!  I think I have to go throw up now.

I'm Having Horrible Flashbacks...

Let's play another game.  This one is called, how many cliche's can you find in this picture?  Let me help you get started.  Here we are a junior in college.  It is 1998.  We have the Bob Marley poster next to Michael Stipe because it's all about Automatic For The People.  We have a beautiful, rare, one of a kind sketch of Kurt Cobain...drawn by yours truly.  Then we have the BEASTIE BOYS photo in a plastic protective sleeve held up by a thumbtack (must preserve the art)...moving right along to the 4 paneled BLURRED (b/c Finance probably doesn't want you all seeing my ample bosoms)half naked picture that the porn star boyfriend convinced me to pose for, nicely framed in glass and on display for all my visitors (oh wait, you mean you didn't have a porn addicted boyfriend in college who brainwashed you into taking half nekked *cough *cough photographs? (okay, so Im trying to save a bit of face here, maybe their wasn't anything HALF about those pictures....b/c i have a feeling i might be called out here..hillary shut your fucking wordhole or I'll beat you) oh silly me!  And then we have the Beatles...and here's my favorite part of this picture...THE HANGING DRIED ROSES!!!!  OH you know you had hanging dried roses.  Because...they were special!!!  They had MEANING!!!  IT WAS ART!!! MAN!!!!  Now, nevermind all the shit scattered about and the mattress on the floor and the black rought iron bedroom set...I KNOW YOU HAD THAT TOO...EVERYONE DID...it was like the 199.99 college starter bedroom set that they sold EVERYWHERE!!!  Nevermind the box dyed hippie hair and the BLACK LIGHT hanging on the wall by the Bob Marley poster.  And what you may not notice, because this is a REALLY crappy scanned picture...is that book there on the 'shitstand'...is one of the many 'Relationship Rescue' books I studied back then.  I was sure I could reform my cock for brains boyfriend after a few S.A.A. meetings! Yes.  I sent him to a Sexual Addicts Anonymous class.  Bastard only went once. 

"It's the principality of the thang"

Dear Dumbass in Charge of Company Policy,

Last night I went to Target with my mother in law, Vernie.  We oohhed and ahhhed over all your 'cute' clothes, we couldn't believe those fabulous towels were on sale for 8.99, we scored our favorite make up and even a candle or two.  And then, I went in search of a perfect fit new bra!  Because you are Target, and because you have such great selections I knew I would find a match.  I spent at least 15 mins in great dialouge with Vern as we approached each bra rack and debated over lace vs plain, padding vs no padding, racer back vs regular.  etc etc.  I finally narrowed my selections down to 5 bras, convinced that among them was THE ONE!  Now it was time for the test drive!

We made our way over to the fitting rooms where we were greeted by a friendly woman who told me I could only take 6 items in.  Great!  I had 6 to be exact.  I was so excited!!  Then as I am walking away the lady says to me 'Just make sure you keep YOUR bra on when you try on those'.  HUH?  Okay, I'm sorry.  Now I can understand you not wanting cooch juice on your panties, no one likes to buy crusty thongs....and that's okay because i can get a pretty good sense of whether those panties will fit over my own.  BUT A BRA???  When I asked the woman to explain, she told me it was 'company policy', that when you try on a bra WITHOUT anything underneath your perfume can get on the bra, and customers don't like that.  OMG.  You can't be serious Target?  And OBVIOUSLY a woman had nothing to do with this company policy. Because anyone with HALF A FUCKING BRAIN would know that a bra is not a pair of underwear.  A bra holds boobies.  It has to support, it has to feel comfortable, it has FORM TO YOUR BOOBY....and how the hell does one know if the bra fits your booby when you have another bra on????  AND GOD FORBID you are a padded kinda girl, looking to go SHEER and you happen to have worn one of your padded bras to Target...oh that will work out great!

Target, this is very dissapointing.  And I am starting a boycott on your bras. I am putting this letter on my blog, which is very popular, and you will see what a grievous mistake you have made.  I may never look at you the same...

Sincerely

I Don't Need Your Fucking Bra Anyway!

Do You Ever Feel Like The Man In Your Relationship?

Actual conversation between sweetie and I last night while we are standing in the kitchen cooking dinner.

Me:  Hey guess what?!  Oprah said today that having sex burns 150-200 calories per half hour session.  Word on the street is that it's a great way to lose weight! EHHHHH??? (nudge nudge, wink wink)

Finance:  Oh yeah?  What does Oprah say about running?

How many of you would like to bet that this was not the response I was looking for? 

Injured Penis

Watch.

'I'm from the KICK ASS TRIBE!'

LISTEN TO THIS.

Timbo...keep em comin.  This is awesome.

Mans 'Other' Best Friend

Not the penis...

When Finance comes home sometimes he makes out with his dog on the floor before he even makes it to me and that really makes me want to gag.  What is up with a man and his dog?  Now, I have a dog.  And he is a boy.  And I love him dearly.  But he is, infact, JUST A DOG.  I give him love, on occasion...but for the most part we just chill.  Now, Finance and his Princess Zoe have a completely different kind of relationship.  It's one that completely perturbs me and often makes me seriously, want to dry heave.  There are times when I watch this exchange of affection between the two, and I am searching deep in the archives of my brain to remember the last time Finance ran to me with similar excitment, threw his hands on my face and rubbed my cheeks and massaged my ears and put his face up to my nose and gave me kisses and in the most innocent childlike way told me how sweet I was and how much he missed me and how I was just the best girl in the whole wide world!. And you know what came back?  NOTHING!  you know why?  Because there is another woman in the house -- one that can't speak.  And SHE get's a kind of love I will never understand. 

Why is it that women, without hesitation, can rattle off dozens of reasons why their loved ones are so special, and yet when you ask a man to offer up his affections he totally clams up?  he geeks and you become the enemy trying to mind fuck him with such games.  because he is convinced that the question requires him to say the things you want to hear and if you don't hear them then he's screwed.  YET really, we are just fishing for some compliments ANY COMPLIMENTS...b/c lets face it, you guys really suck at unsolicited canoodling.  The funny thing is, that if you would just quit fighting us on what is is we really want/need, and just give it up...you would hear less bitching and get laid a hell of a lot more often.

They just dropped a bomb in our staff meeting this morning that means for the most part that the next two months are going to kick my ass.  Love the Holidays!  I hope to god we make bonus this year.

Anywhoo that's all I got today folks. 

P.S. Hillary you opened the floodgates for breast remarks with that picture girl.  You HAD to know it was coming.   

JUST ONE MORE Period Post

I wonder if labor is anything like having really REALLY bad cramps back to back to back for like 12 hours?  Because all my life I have struggled with terrible cramping before my period and everytime I am having them, I think to myself 'if labor is anything like this i got in the bag....or is the bank?'.  So needless to say, I am cramping right at this moment and as I usually describe it, it feels as though someone is wringing my uterus out like a wet sponge.  Sometimes it feels as though someone is driving a dagger in my abdomen.  They used to prescribe me mega doses of Anaprox....and then came Alleve, which was basically the same thing offered OTC ~ naproxen sodium.  Sometimes I have to put a heating pad on.  The one I have must be from 1979 because the cover is but a tissue and the thing gets so hot you could probably fry and egg on it.  It is the same one I used growing up and somehow it has stayed with me.  So I'm pretty excited because this has got to mean I'm about to explode.  Cute huh?

Did I tell you guys that when I got those 'birkenSTOCKS' in the mail that I bought off Ebay for 30bucks...they turned out to be BIRKI'S???  Well, this is just the most hysterical thing to Finance...b/c he is convinced that they are knock offs...even though I have tried to explain to him that they are made by the same manufacturer...and every time I have to mention them....like the other morning when I had left them in his car and I wanted him to get them for me, I said "Sweetie, will you go get my *pauses as I cannot call them birkenstocks, because they are infact NOT* Birkis?"  to which he busts out laughing.  My poor Birki's.  They do the job dammit.  WHATEVER!

I don't have much to talk about this evening.  If you want to see the most perfect breasts god ever created, go to Socrates website and see the nice pic she posted of her voluptious mounds.  They are fucking perfect.  And as many times as I have touched, squeezed, poked and caressed (okay maybe I haven't exactly done that) them...I still think they are fake and she just been lying to me all these years.  I know one of these days I'll find the holes....they're probably somewhere on her ass.  And don't think she doesn't work for those puppies.  Sorry HillPete but Im outing you right now...by telling the blog world that YOU SLEEP WITH A PILLOW IN BETWEEN YOUR BREASTS AT NIGHT.  No joke.  Every night.  Pillow inserted between breasts.  And she doesn't run.  Ever.

I have never wanted a period more in my life than I do right NOW

I know you people are probably really sick of hearing about my menstrual cycle, but I have to tell you I have officially NOT menstruated in 3months and 1 day.  This whole Seasonale thing started out as a good idea.  You know, I thought to myself that day I visited The Claw, that the fact that once a month I had to go virginal for 5+ days was really inconvenient, and if there were any way to bypass that whole bleeding thing what wonders it would do for our sex life?  AS IF...that really made a difference.  I think I'm in denial that we exited the 'honeymoon' phase of our relationship...ohhhh about a year ago...and getting laid every day is no longer a priority.  And I should probably stop now, or else I could start getting into more detail than I am sure some of my readers...OH SAY LITTLE VERNIE aka: FINANCES MOM...and I suppose Finance too, not really the kind of guy who wants to read about his sex life online.  Let alone online where his mom can read too.  Not like he doesn't know that I tell her practically EVERYTHING.  And since I have a tendency to sidetrack and ramble, I think I will stop talking about sex as it relates to me and Finance RIGHT ABOUT....NOW!

Okay.  So  I had a point when I started this, and that was to say that on Saturday I came over to Little Vernies to work on the Wedding Save the Date invitations.  I was hot after catching part of a discussion on a radio station about the popularity of SWINGERS and how its a new breed of people, ya know...right up there with homosexuals...and these men were calling in declaring pridefully that not only were they and their spouses Swingers, but they were DEVOUT CHRISTIANS who had deep relationships with the Lord Jesus Christ.  And that they could separate the two.  Well hot damn.  Nothing like getting a little community ass before you go to Sunday Service.  These men were pissing me off.  My ears were burning and I wanted to call up and tell them how stupid they are.  It reminded me of an article I read about DOGGING in Europe...or some shit...where couples drive to remote locations, park it and pop open their hatchbacks and flip on the vacancy sign to alert everyone that their open for business.  The business of you know...dogging...with other strangers.  I read about some married man, kids etc, who does it and his wife has no idea and he explains it's his way of releasing tension...or some shit.  Bastards.  So I came into the house blowin about men and their penises (i went into the male bashing a bit, despite the fact that I AM VERY AWARE that there are equal numbers of WHORES)...and when I finally stopped talking she was staring at me with this look like she could barely keep up and says to me:  "Well girl, I think you need a gin and tonic and period!'.  And I said 'Well if that isn't the smartest thing I've heard all day...".

I have been incredibly emotional lately.  The other night Finance and I were trying to enjoy a nice dinner at a restuarant we hadn't been to before when I suddenly had this brilliant idea that we could pretend like we were on our first date, and be flirty like all the other couples in the restaurant fondling eachother.  Poor guy was unaware of my 'agenda' for how the evening needed to go...here went our conversation:

Me:  (in my most flirtatious..you know you want me voice) Hey sweetie, lets play a game!

Finance:  (looking excited for a VERY brief moment)  What game?

Me:  Let's play the I LOVE YOU BECAUSE  game

Finance:  I don't want to play that game.  You know I don't like to play that game.

Me:  (Thinking to myself  staring blankly at him after being shut down~ Of course you don't want to play that game, because we're just some old crusty stale couple sitting in a restaurant while everyone else in the room might as well have been having sex on their tables)

And all this CRAP started running through my head and SUDDENLY there I was tears running down my face into my lasagna and Finance surely wondering 'WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO NOW???', and i couldn't explain myself but to say 'I'm having an emotional moment...Im sorry'.  So we sat there, side by side (because he always sits next to me...isn't that cute?), ignoring one another...him embarrased because apparently my waterworks was drawing attention from passerbys and that made him uncomfortable.  We get out of the restuarant and he says to me 'WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT???"  And I totally pulled the Emotional Card.  And I never do that.  Because I don't have emotional periods.  I have anxious periods, sometimes short fused periods, but never sappy periods...and here the problem was that I WASNT HAVING A FUCKING PERIOD.  God dammit I need cleansing, and all the while Im all blowed up like a bloated frog and I am waiting for INTERVENTION IN THE FORM OF RED.  Please.  For the love of all thats holy.  Because this isnt' funny.  And I can't be pregnant.  I have to get into a size 4 Lazaro in 9 months and we have traveling to do. 

That is all.

There is a landing pad

the size of Jupiter on my chin.  It is so large I might have to have it operated on.  I am 27 years old and there is a pimple of mammoth porportions on my face just in time for a wedding this weekend.  And so help me god if my hormones fuck me over the day of my own wedding.  Pimples and Lazaro dresses just don't work so well together.  And of course I have fuct with it...and its the kind that you spend 2 hours in the bathroom with your face 2 inches from the mirror putting every bit of elbow grease you have in the squeeze...and you get ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.  And the more you get nothing, the more you fuck with it because it becomes a war with the pimple because now you've pissed it off and it looks worse than when you started.  Finance and I make fun of eachother over this.  You know how little kids get when they have to take a shit in their diaper?  You suddenly realize the Animal has stopped making noise, and when you find him/her they are squatting somewhere VERY QUIETLY trying to adjust to the new warmth of the shit patty that is now attached to their ass.  Well, if you hadn't notice, that is exactly what happens when someone has fallen victim to picking their face in front of a mirror.  And if you have never experienced this...well than I hate you.  b/c i have eye witnessed this agressive attack on several occasions by my girlfriends.  If you let them go long enough they wind up looking like they have been attacked by a swarm of bees.  Those damn clogged pores.  So the joke is with Finance...if either one of us notices an odd growth on eachothers facia...its a 'new friend'.  I have a 'new friend'...and its pissing me off today.

Fucking Seasonale. 

This morning I turned my car on to Smashing Pumpkins, 'Tonight'.  I hadn't heard that song in SO LONG.  Could easily have been the anthem of my Junior Year in high school.  That would have been....1995. 

Someone in the office has overalls on today.  Not only does she have overalls on, she is pregnant.  There are two things now on my list of things Finance is responsible for making sure never happens to me.  They are:

The Cottonball Hair

and

The Pregnant Overalls

That is all.

WTF

Anyone else out there disturbed by the Burger King ads lately? 

J, my brother...I'm with you on this one.  That dude is just downright creepy man.

I can't stop watching this video.

Im speechless.

The Contraceptive Blues

Seasonale makes you fat.  No, correction...Seasonale, makes ME fat.  Or at least that's the best excuse I've come up with to explain the 4lbs I have mysteriously gained in the last 3 months.  I have gone through my diet (or lack thereof) and exercise patterns and can't find anything that has changed, and then when I went over to see Vernie the other day I whined that I thought maybe I was pregnant because my belly was so huge--or maybe just bloated...she asked what the deal was with my birth control.  I explained that I had ONCE AGAIN been lured in by the latest new BC Pill marketing campaign (which happened to be Seasonale...and it came with a really cute pink purse/make up bag thingy) and changed pills when the last one was working fine...just because, well because I can't keep my hands to myself, my mouth closed, or my brain from constantly shifting gears and propelling me towards NEW, PRETTY, and CONVENIENT things.  Even when the old things are working fine.  I just have to fuck with a good thing.  And while I am on this, I might add that I have tried just about every birth control method there is, save the things you have to insert anywhere other than your mouth.  EXCEPT FOR THAT ONE TIME...when I was on 'the ring'.  You know, the Nuvaring?  Well, it was all great and everything...seeing how you don't have to worry about it for a month, problem was that somebody had to perform the ADD/REMOVE, and I just couldn't bring myself to do it.   But I was on 'the ring' for several months.  So you may ask yourself, who performed the ADD/REMOVE?  Oh...dear finance.  I know if you are reading this right now you are having HORRID flashbacks.  All those times I declared 'sweetie it's that time...' and we would go into the bathroom and turn off the lights, and you would yell at me to stop laughing because I just couldn't take it seriously, ever...that you would do that for me.... Now, that was love.  only, i wasn't getting any back then...because you couldn't look at me the same way.   Nothing like helping your girlfriend out with her vaginal contraceptive to get you in the mood! 

ANYWAY...tangent.  So the Seasonale has been great and all, but when I mentioned to Vernie that the Seasonale keeps you from having a period for 3 months...she was like 'WELL NO SHIT YOU'RE BLOATED!'.  And then the light bulb went off (oh blog people you are laughing now i know it...because that light bulb should have gone ON right? damn I can't get these things straight).  I hadn't considered the ramifications of fucking with your menstrual cycle like that.

It's crap ladies.  Don't go for the purse!

The Devil Made Me Do It

10am is nearing and you know what that means.  Montel will be appearing on my television shortly, and instead of crossing my fingers in hopes that Sylvia Browne will not be the guest, I have decided to mute and write.

Dear Finance who denys interest in this blog o'mine,

Because I refuse to be one of those women who buys and hides, I am writing to let you know in advance that a pair of Choco sandals will be arriving to our doorstep which I will promptly shove in the dark corner of my side of the closet in hopes that you won't notice.  Because as you so kindly pointed out the other night when I had casually mentioned that I was bidding on a pair...'oh great, because those chocos will do you lots of good this winter'.  Now, I know you don't understand the concept of buying things you don't have an IMMEDIATE AND DIRE NEED for RIGHT AT THIS MOMENT, and obviously I haven't quite grasped the concept of 'Just Because You Have the Money To Spend, Doesn't Mean You Should Be Spending It'.  I also know you can't quite wrap your head around 'swooping in on a great deal'...please understand, that it needed to happen.  Just trust me on this one.  Also, I want you to know-- that I KNOW... that I am not working two part time jobs on top of my 9-5 to pay off the 2,000 dollar citibank credit card bill for the retainers I HAD TO HAVE to correct the slightest shifting of two teeth in my mouth that no one notices but me---to buy choco's and birkenstocks...and Nine West on EBAY.  I also know, that WE (as in ME.  you know WE usually means YOU, but this time, it is all ME) had a little 'Ebay problem' last winter, but it passed...as will this relapse.  I also want you to know that I do remember telling you a few months ago after I had purchased 5 new pairs of shoes at the Perisian Semi Annual Clearance Sale, and you weren't that impressed with all the money I had SAVED on those Enzo's that were 75% off....that I was 'officially' done buying shoes for the year.  But you see, something happens on Ebay.   I think when you sign in, the screen emits toxins that cause temporary black outs.  So, I just want you to know, because I know it's coming...that I have already looked into and found a group.   They are called Spenders Anonymous.  Here is what they say:

The Twelve Steps of Spenders Anonymous

1) We admitted we were powerless over spending and money and that our lives had become unmanageable.

2) Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

3) Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care God , as we understood God .

4) Made a searching and fearless moral and financial inventory of ourselves.

5) Admitted to God , to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

6) We were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

7) Humbly asked God to remove our shortcomings.

8) Made a list of all persons we had harmed and became willing to make amends to them all.

9) Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

10) Continued to take personal and financial inventory and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it.

11) Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God , as we understood God -praying only for knowledge of God 's will for us and the power to carry that out.

12) Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to compulsive spenders and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

So in summary, it looks like this can all be blamed on my 'defective character'.  What a relief however, that it's not too late to make ammends for all the damage I have done and then perhaps God will save me!  AMEN!

your loving financee

~s

p.s.  for the record...the choco's retail for $95.  I NEEDED (think NEED like you driving two and half hours to go climbing every weekend--because if you don't you'll turn into some freak ADD child that makes random terret like noises and acts as though sitting on the couch and watching tv were akin to donating a kidney) a pair for our trip around the world.  I saved $35 dollars by getting them on Ebay.  Oh, and did I tell you about the 1,200 dollars I saved by choosing the bluegrass band to play at our wedding instead of the 5 piece jazz band?   

o.p.p. wasn't the dinner I cooked for you last night FABULOUS?!!!

Fooled By Cuteness

Yesterday i went to Petco, where the pets go, to get Marley some Eukanuba.  On my way out my friend A blew up my cell and so I found myself, as women do, wandering the store aimlessly chit chatting away...at certain times lingering in the cat aisle and browsing parakeet seed for the animals I don't have.   The 80lb bag of food I was lugging around on my hip began to hurt...and so i set it down next to the 'treat island' and soon found myself grinning like a child at all the furry rodents.  Now I am not nor have I ever been a rodent lover, I prefer the larger furry animals that can sit in your lap, drool on your pillow and give sloppy ball breath kisses.  And not to say that these rodents didn't have THE MOST GINORMOUS BALLS I HAVE EVER SEEN....in fact...the boy rodents balls are so big they float on top of them.  It's like women stretching on those big balls in aerobic classes, rollin' around.  They were seriously resting their little bellys on their balls, they are that big.  They a really gross too.  Like had I gotten one, it definately would have been a girl...because you just can't imagine holding those balls.  ANYWAY.  So I always thought there were just guniea pigs and gerbils...hamsters and rats.  What I found at Petco where the pets go...is that there are many o breeds of these things.  There are long haired ones, and teddy bear ones, and shaved ones...and of course REALLY BIG BALLED ONES.  I had no idea.  And they were all, minus the big rats...really cute.  So cute...in fact, that as I was on the phone with A, I was actually entertaining the thought of adopting one.  I had the thought that Finance would probably feed it to Zoe...that it would be a really bad idea to bring a rodent home, and that I probably would be instructed to return it.  But I wasn't so concerned with what Finance would think...because there I was oogling at the cute little fuzzy things...and talking to A, and REALLY BORED...and well shit, they only cost 5 dollars!  I could afford that?  So I picked one out, and started running through how I was going to explain why this particular one had to come home with me, and how it was black and white and speckled kind of like zoe...and well just 'look at that face'....and the kind Petco girl opened up the cage so I could pick up my new friend.  I chased him around the cage finding more resistance than I had hoped...and proceeded to ask the appropriate questions one asks before they decide to make an addition to the family.  You know...'Do they cuddle?', 'Can I take him for walks?', 'Can it learn how to flush?'...and most importantly 'Do they bite?'...to which she never committed a solid answer to.  Until of course, I found out my own as I finally pinched the little bastard around his belly and pulled him out to test his 'cuddleability'...at which point he threw his neck back and lunged his fangs into my pinky finger with a force and determination that made it very clear that he would not be fucked with, and I would NOT be going home with a 'long haired teddy bear hamster'.   The petco lady freaked as she saw the blood streaming down my hand and ran to get me a baindaid.  I laughed, thinking Finance had managed to channel himself through that thing and teach me a little lesson about being bored in a petstore. 

Anal Glaucoma

'I mix your milk wit my cocoa puff'

http://ia300129.us.archive.org/0/items/My_Humps_4/BlackEyedPeasMonkeyBusiness05MyHumps.mp3

Ella Fitzgerald is ROLLING in her grave.  Look out Kelis, you thought your Milkshake song was good...I am so tempted to post that video of the lady boob dancing to Milkshake, but I don't want to frighten anyone.

****UPDATE****

You asked for it.

http://www.ebaumsworld.com/milkshake.html

Oh God, Sylvia Browne is on.

Enough said.  I just wanted to make note of a few things that have been swirling around in my head lately.  The other day I heard a McDonalds ad on the radio reminding me that I could charge a Happy Meal on my credit card if I didn't have any cash.  Now I can appreciate convenience, but if you have to put your chicken nuggets on your Mastercard, you probably shouldn't have a credit card.   Well its no damn wonder this country is in so much debt when you lure college kids into applying for credit cards by giving them a slinky and then send them off to Taco Bell to make their first purchase of a meximelt.  I wonder how much of my college credit card debt was alcohol and tobacco related. 

Anywhoo.  Last night I went to climb at the gym.  It was very hot there and I quickly realized that bouldering + an overheated butt + light grey yoga pants = obvious ass crack sweat trail.  Cute, very cute.  I was tempted to dust some chalk down there.   Ya know the ol' baby powder in the shoes trick?  It could work...  These are the same pants that Finance loves to snicker and point (like a little schoolboy) that I have acuired a 'camel toe'.  We are a classy pair, I tell you.

I bought a plate of fruit, cottage cheese and a hard boiled egg for breakfast this morning at the cafeteria.  They charge you by weight when you buy from the salad/fruit bar.  L got eggs, toast and sausage off the grill.  My shit cost almost 8 BUCKS!!!!  Her's....$1.95.  WTF?  Again, another perfect example of why obesity is a crisis in this country.  I mean, it's great to eat healthy and all, but when you can get a greasy plate of food for a fraction of the cost...  I mean, you can't go to a Whole Foods and get lunch for less than 10 bucks.  HOWEVER, Taco Bell will gladly feed you and your extended family for a week for less than $5.

6 Flags Marketing Campaign DISASTER

There is something really disturbing to me about the 6 Flags 'mascot'.

http://www.sixflags.com/

How is it that having a bald little wrinkly freddy cougar pediphile-man coax little boys and girls into buses to go to 6 Flags was ever a good idea?  I mean, who would you rather have your children hanging out with?  6FLAGSFREDDY or COSMO?  For god sakes people!!!

'I AM THE BLOG'

Let it be first noted that the creation of my blog was openely discussed for WEEKS before Finance ever got around to asking me for the address and has since indicated little to no interest that it even exists. 

Conversation between Finance and I amongst friends---on any given current topic.

Finance:  Huh?  What happened? 

ME:  Did you not read my blog today?

Finance:  No.

ME:  Do you EVER read my blog?

Finance:  Uhhhh, yeah sometimes.

ME:  Do you not have any interest in what I have to say to the world?

Finance:  Sweetie, I AM--THE BLOG.  I LIVE!--THE BLOG.  I don't NEED to read it.  But I love you.

I have discussed this with girlfriends of mine with blogs and husbands who don't read them.  Must be one of those Women are FUCKING BRILLIANT, and Men...well....Men Have a Penis....things.  Right?  Because I just don't get it.  I don't understand. 

Can anyone explain this to me?

You Can Say That On TV?

Yet another Wednesday morning here at work...10:03am and Sylvia Browne is on Montel AGAIN!  It wasn't until I started working here 3 years ago that I ever watched daytime television....but considering I work for various entertainment networks, it is sort of a entitlement to have a tv in your 'cube'.  And who is really checking up to make sure I'm watching my network feeds?  Every day I watch:  Good Morning America followed by Regis and Kelly followed by Montel, then The View, then my soaps.  Oh yes.  I have become a soap whore.  All My Children, One Life to Live and General Hospital.  Then there is Oprah of course...and the 5 o'clock news.  I am amazed I ever get any work done.  Sometimes I shut down the boob tube when Montel comes on because there is only so many times I can watch Montel cry.  And if you have ever watched an episode with Sylvia Browne...I just can't take it sometimes.   For example...here is a typical guest to Sylvia conversation:

Guest:  Hi Sylvia.  Can you tell me if my dead father has tried to make contact with me?  And does he have any messages for me?

Sylvia:  (always looking stoned and yet completely confident in her responses) Yup, the flickers.  (she then nibbles on her 3 inch long acrylic nails with an intent stare waiting for said guest to have a look of 'oh right' the 'flickers').  And those sounds, you know the sounds you hear in the house.  You know what I'm talking about.  The footsteps!  Yeaaaaahhh see (think OFFICE SPACE) all those times you are walking down the hallway and you hear the faintest sounds of footsteps and you think to yourself 'whats that sound?', yeah, thats him.  And he ummm, hes doing great and he wants to tell you that that loser you've been hanging out with lately is definatley not the 'one'...and he also wants to make sure that you remember to file your taxes on time this year."

Guest:  (smiling and crying) YES, THE STEPS!  The FLICKERS!! right...I know what your talking about....oh wonderful!  Thank you SO MUCH!!

I'm not even going to go there right now...because for me to talk about what I think of Sylvia Browne, would require a blog post entirely dedicated to 'Lame talk show guests'.  Which would of course include some of my other favorites...like Wynonna Judd on Oprah and Anna Nicole Smith on Regis and Kelly. 

Last night Finance and I watched NIP/TUCK for the first time.  There has been so much buzz surrounding this show, I decided we needed to see for ourselves what all the hype was about.  WOW.  The show opened with a disclaimer about TVMA followed by a bunch of other letters that we'd never heard before.  All we knew was 'goodness that was a lot of LETTERS, this aught to be interesting'.  I had no idea you could say PUSSY on broadcast television.  Pussy and cock, hermaphadites and a bunch of people taking bong hits.  I needed a good PBS After School Special and a bath when that was all over. 

I think we'll stick to our regular shows.  Nothing like a good Extreme Home Makeover to make you feel all warm and fuzzy before you go to bed.

*update:  THE VIEW is now on.  Elizabeths breasts are GINORMOUS, and I'm glad shes finally covering them up.  For awhile there they were literally pouring out of her teeny little tops.  I hope my boobs get that big when i have babies.  I also love  her daughters name Grace...but Finance hates it.  Which makes me think-- one day I came home and suggested the name  'Lola'.  He started improvising his own lyrics to the tune of the famous song...declaring that 'Loooooola...Loo Loo Loo Loo Loooola.  She was a HOE-la....Loo Loo Loo Loo Loo La.'  Again...not that I'm pregnant.  Anyway, back to Elizabeth.  She is so cute...but she must black out every morning when she gets dressed. 

Grande Froth

Have you ever gotten the Grande Froth at Starbucks?  I meant, a Grande Capaccino?  It really pisses me off to pay 5 bucks for a cup full of FROTH and two tablespoons of coffee.  And the last time I went through the drive-thru, I asked very nicely if they would please omit the foam.  To which I was rudely informed 'well, that is what a capaccino is maam..' and then I got a lecture about how a capaccino is made, and that what I REALLY wanted was a latte.  EXCUSE ME?  It was all I could do to bite my tongue, I really wasn't in the mood to argue with Starbucks about what my drink of preference REALLY is.  Elitest bastards. 

There must be a tag number written on me somewhere...

Today I had a Rasberry Cheese Crossiant for breakfast and a Nutty Butty Bar for lunch.  There is definatley something wrong with this picture.  And I wonder why my waist resembles so much a Starcrunch?  I feel like we are a bunch of lab rats...here in America.  They put us all together and throw in a bunch of Nutty Butty Bars and McDonalds cheeseburgers, Crystal Meth making instructions, guns, Gwar, Morrisey, TuPac and Britney Spears, big ol saline titties, surgeons who'll promise to give you lips like Angelina Jolie, Credit Cards, Starbucks, SUV's and PBR, botox, Red Bull, enough antidepressents and anxiety medications to put the entire continent of Africa into 'twighlight sedation', super size portions, caffeine, cigarettes, cell phones and internet pornography and then bring in George "I'm proud to be an A-mirrican"  BUSH to represent and lead our country...and its no wonder we're all so messed up! 

In my dads words...'That is all'.

Shafted

I just got shafted.  I parked my car in the parking garage as I do every morning and headed towards the elevator about 3 seconds behind a group of people who I thought would surely hold their ride for a fellow coworker.  Oddly, no one would make eye contact with me as I approached the door into the elevators and the next thing I know the door is  shutting IN MY FACE!  No shit.  I thought for a moment to throw my purse in there...but these elevators have been known to leave with your arm.  They don't play here.  I want the blood of the asshole in that elevator who was surely playing rapid fire with the CLOSE DOOR button.  I got shafted.  And that is so wrong.

I had road rage on this dude in a blue toyota who wouldn't let me over as I sped towards a dissapearing lane which would have forced me to exit the interstate.  Im sure it didn't have anything to do with the fact that I was the jerk that waits till the LAST MINUTE to get over in order to bypass 20 cars.  So after I laid on my horn and threw my body around in my car like someone having an epileptic fit, I noticed he had sped off into the distance so as to avoid any further confrontation with the freak in the volvo that was me.  Well, as Im pulling into the guard gate at work, who else is in front of me...but none other than the blue toyota I had threatened to run off the road.  And now I am sitting there like an ASS pretending to look in my purse for something important...avoiding rear view mirror eye contact...I realize its J from Sales.  Of course!  Someone I see and talk to everyday.  Oh the humiliation.

Another thing that is wrong, is when State Farm Insurance sends you a HAND WRITTEN birthday card ON YOUR BIRTHDAY, and your own mother calls you at 6:30pm a day AFTER the fact.

Another thing that pisses me off is Serving Sizes in vending machine food.  There aren't 8 servings in a bag of cheetos!!!  Who stops after they get through 4 potato chips because they've had A serving???  Just tell me that I ate an entire days calories and 30 grams of fat, because I'm insulted by the person who thinks half a snickers bar will really satisfy me.

And you know what else sucks?  The fact that you have to pay taxes on your car every year on your flippin birthday.  I mean if there is one day I don't want to have to pay anyone, its my birthday.  Where is the humanity?

Im just bitter because I worked 20 hours straight yesterday and all I have to show for it is a hundred bucks and blister on my little toe.  I feel like a crash test dummy that just hit a wall in a buick going 120mph.  I really can't complain either because its not like I really NEED this job.  I mean, I could pay my credit card monthly minimums like everyone else and wind up paying 80% the cost of these damn retainers in interest when its all said and done.  I might have to rethink the whole botox thing.  And to think I was actually starting to consider bleeching my teeth!  Im certainly learning my lesson on paying the price for vanity.   

The Great Toast

There should be a screening process for people who want to make toasts at a wedding.  The requirements should be that you have your speech in writing and it has been approved by both bride and groom, AND you have to blow a breathalizer at AT LEAST below 2 x's the legal limit.  Because there are no such rules, I am probably now forever blacklisted from all weddings.

Instead of the nobel prize winning speech i might have given, had I thought about toasting BEFORE several captain and sevens, had I taken a few sober moments to articulate my very serious and admirable thoughts towards these two individuals, i might just have a mailbox full of speech requests right now.  No, no no...INSTEAD of impressing a room full of people, my fiance, best friend...their parents, and friends and families...with poise and grace....it was all I could do to tune out the gentlemen behind me yelling "QUIT WHILE YOUR AHEAD!".  Oh yes.  Once again, I was 'that girl'. 

I minced words, mentioned something about how we had dated twins together in college making it sound as though we had shared one...brought up my fathers death a year ago (no relevance), pointed at Finance trying to make a joke about how I was glad to see he hadn't fled the dining hall in complete embarrassment yet (to which he had moments before been enjoying what little anonymity he had blending in among the crowds)...cried as I tried to switch gears from playing comedian to making sure to say something deep and profound and SERIOUS..very SERIOUS...I dodged tomatoes left and right and with every pause in my microphone the crowd drew heavy applause hoping I was finished...BUT OH NO...and the bride and groom kept shooting me gestures as though to say 'really we've heard quite enough!'.  Oh god.  At what point had I lost any and all sense to keep my mouth shut.  And why, oh why...is this such a hard thing for me to do??

I am declaring right now.  I have a problem.  My poor fiance can't even 'relax' when we are out at a party because he's so friggin petrified that SOMEONE (that would be me) isn't in control of any given situation.  That he will surely have to rescue me from complete irrevocable embarrassment.  This is very sad.  So we decided the solution was one of two things...I either A) learn to keep my mouth shut when I drink (and to be honest this is something i need to learn regardless of if alcohol is involved)....or B) drink less when I do drink.  Unfortunately , while A would seem like the no brain-er, I just don't trust myself.  SOOOOOOOOO, I think I have to give up drinking to get drunk altogether.  Which doesn't happen too often...but when it does, it is without a doubt EPIC.

CLEARLY someone who didn't know me handed me that mic.  No one I know in their right mind would allow me a working microphone if their life depended on it.  T&A, I promise I will be on my best behavior in October.  And Finance and I have already decided that I should stick to sparkling grape juice for our own wedding. 

Coyote Ugly Bee-otches

I dedicate this entry title to you A. 

I work with a bunch of bee-otches at the 'bar'.  They are so FIFTH grade!!!  I am actually beginning to have flashbacks at night when I fall asleep about these two girls that bullied me in the 5th grade.  I sort of assumed that one reaches a certain level of maturity at least by the time they have outgrown their braces...but apparently not.  I found myself in a position this weekend where it was as though I was trying to win a bid from the popular sorority (not that I ever rushed).  It seems as though since I am the new 'girl', and I don't have a penis, gaining acceptance into the cool club (where shots are passed around freely, you get loaded throughout your shift and are generally considered a bad ass), is not the sort of 'newbie' initiation I had expected.  You know...where the new guy is welcomed with open arms and everyone helps out b/c they want you to succeed.  Nooooooooo....the bar scene is way too competitive to offer a warm fuzzy welcome committee.  Unless you have a penis.  Because the chick bartenders are so far up the boy butts, they hardly have time for anything else.

Ugh.  So after a pep talk with Vernie, I have decided to ignore the Bee-otches, b/c they are all just jealous (right?), and do my job-- make great money and get the flip out of there as soon as I can pay all my dues.  The money is after all...quite nice, and I did'nt get this job to make new friends.  So FUCK EM!

They can kiss my big 'ole rang.

como say dee say...ow?

8 hours at Turnerville + new job at local pub serving lots and lots and lots of alcohol on a thursday night until 4am + cowboy boots SANS padding (aka SOCKS) to look cute in for my first day  + no dinner + half the cig I HAD TO SMOKE to be cool like the rest of the servers + some captain for myself + cashing out at the end of a 9 hr shift only to discover I had failed to count the $175 dollars i was told and trusted to be the amount bundled in a roll of money handed to me to be added to a tab of over $200 which i had obviously been shorted considering my overall tips amounted to about 10% of my total sales = The FETAL position I'll be in at the end of tonight when I do it all over again.

What on earth have I gotten myself into?  I'm too old to keep up with all these rock star bar people.  they are some hardcore shit. 

I am delirious.  I am not answering my phone, for my brain seems to have misplaced its vocabulary.  No puedo communicado por que yo tengo un cabeza estupido.  comprende? hasta la pasta.

Born Again

Well it looks like I'm not dying of cancer after all.  Pathology came back and not only am I SANS (just for the first time in 26 yrs found out that this means withOUT and not WITH) node, I am sans terminal illness.  Hooray!!!  What a relief.

Now almost as exciting as this news, is the fact that I can now SHOWER!  I had been under strict orders not get my bandages wet.  Which would have been fine had the bandages been on my arm, or oh say my forehead...but no, they were on the side of my crotch!  Now, just imagine for a moment, how one might bath without getting their crotch wet?  I had to take baths, but the whole experience felt more like I had traded places with the dogs as we place them in the tubs for baths...I would fill the tub up with about 4 inches of water and get down on my hands and knees and pour water carefully so that it would run off me instead of down me.  And I will tell you, I challenge any position in the Kama Sutra to prove more difficult than bathing without getting your crotch wet.  What is even worse, is having your honey out in the hallway giggling while sticking his head in on occasion to 'make sure everything is okay'.    Oh yes, I've never felt so 'dead sexy'.

So this morning, I had my first shower in over a week, and I seriously felt BORN AGAIN.  It was better than sex.  And I only say this, because I can't remember what that was like either!  Damn node.

All the Little Ants Are Marching

In my car.  They are EVERYWHERE.  And I hate them.  I hate them like I hate the mosquitos and the fleas.  So I don't have time this morning to deal with all the little ants because I'm late for work so Im driving and I can just feel them on my hand, on my cheek, on my arm.  I guess they were looking for a dry place to run amok last night with all the rain...and seeing how we park practically on top of their homes in an empty grassy lot, I shouldn't be so surprised...but it's still gross.  And really, thats all I have to say this morning.

After a cup of coffee, I might be able to tap into my inner monologue. 

Life of the Party

Finance and I were invited to a A&T's wine tasting party Saturday night.  A wine tasting party...ahhh, what fun!  Considering my only knowledge of tasting wine came from the movie 'Sideways', I had little idea what to expect, or how to participate.  I came on an empty stomach, having had no dinner, and just popped my lexapro on my way out the door.  Big mistake.  Instead of following others leads, I proceeded to pour myself generous glasses obviously taking little consideration that I had 20+ bottles waiting in line for me to 'taste'.  About three glasses into it, I found my inside voice becoming a little more obvious than necessary, and a started getting slighlty parnoid...that here i was an hour into a party where everyone was mingling and socializing...appearing to be completely in control of their bodies and mouths, while I was beginning my fast trek towards becoming a bit more entertaining than one every REALLY desires to be at a party.  J assisted in pouring my glasses for me after about the third comment from guests about the 'shawna glass', meaning that youd poured too much...and i think i made it to the 20th bottle. 

Was it the costume changes?  Switching out of my nice flowing skirt because the elastic around my waiste kept gravitating towards my boobs becoming increasingly bothersome, and i needed to get into a pair of the hostess shorts?  Was it the wine glass I broke as it vibrated its way off a ledge as I furiously stomped my feet on the DANCE DANCE REVOLUTION pad? No, I think it was the point at which everyone realized I had 'dissapeared' and passed out in the hosts bedroom...

Finance took his sloppy 'bride to be' home before the final results were announced.  Poor guy, he had worked so hard jotting down his witty little comments all night long....stuff like 'the this and the that were quite...this, and it smells, the faintest bit of this...and that'.  Meanwhile my scorecard offered little but 'this sucks', 'okay', 'shitty', 'tart', 'hell no'. 

The real action kicked off once we got home.  Most of this relayed to me in the morning as I cried in bed feeling so sorry rubbing my sore head and feeling as though i had made the hugest ass of myself the night before.  Finance explained something along of the lines (which I am not sure I can believe considering his impressions of me sounded a bit embellished...not sure he can be trusted for a reliable interpretation of events)...

Apparently we came home, he put me into bed and handed me a glass of water and left to go watch tv in the family room.  This was not satisfactory to me...as the next moment i am tearing him a new ass about 'you don't care about me', and 'im dying in there and your watching tv', and 'im puking and you just dont even care!' (which i wasn't...yet).  He tried to explain to me that having 'this conversation right now isn't the appropriate time'...which i can barely stand to hear when im sober, so you can imagine how well i took it then.  And that i needed to go to bed.  Which wasn't satisfactory either.  So apparently the next thing he knows im tearing through the house throwing jeans and shoes on and grabbing my purse to head out the door.  'where are you going sweetie?', which i doubt sweetie was coming out of his mouth...but for the sake of the story we'll go with it...i say 'Im going for a drive', he says 'no youre not, youre too drunk to be driving'...to which i reply 'fine, then take me to the store for a cigarette because i dont want to be around you right now'.  Makes perfect sense!  He later mentions he should have taken me to the store for the cigarettes and locked me out on the porch until i smoked the whole pack.  Then after i got another 'no' I went into the bathroom and cried in the toilet and made myself get sick, because i kept spinning every time i laid on the bed.  Then i ran into the other bathroom, where zack found me draped over the sink with the water running furiously on my head, where i had apparently run into the guest bathroom door that was adjar stumbling through the dark.  So i was crying more there about my head...and poor me.  Which explained the huge-mongous lump on my head that was throbbing the next morning.  He chuckled to himself as i looked up and asked 'did i hit my head on something?'.  He told me I was in 'fine form'...and that i had verbally assaulted him mercilessly all night.  As he sqwaked making imitations of my drunken tirade.  Poor guy.  Gotta love a man that can put up with your weepy drunk ass from time to time.

Classic.  For the record, that was my first and last wine tasting adventure. 

Banging

What comes to mind when you think of the word 'Bang'?  I think of pots and pans on the 4th of july, beating down someones door, Gang Bang, The Gong Show, William Hung, Chitty Chitty, the sound off of a gun at a track meet, a hair feature I have recently accuired...but mainly the word conjures up acts of generally agressive behavior. 

So the other day I was talking to someone, we'll keep him anonymous, and he casually mentioned to me while telling the story of how he and his fiance met, about 'two girls I was banging last summer...'.  DOH!  OMG, if ever a sentence had made the hair on the back of my neck stand up...it was definatley right then.  So I'm having a moment of judgment---a 'black and white' moment if you will. 

WHAT THE HELL!  Explain this to me?  No, actually...don't explain this to me, because clearly my opinion about this will likely not waiver.  Now, I can concede to the idea that one might have 'bangin hot sex' with their mate.  But you don't BANG someone unless you have a pair of scissors in your hand!  When you start describing your sexual adventures using this word, you simply without a doubt sound like an arrogant thug.  Bang as verb and not an adjective, when you are talking about sex you had with someone...is just plain WRONG!

I don't feel this way about many words...with the exception of cunt.  What pisses me off most is that, I giggled after it was said!!  ha, ha...you're such silly goose--is what i conveyed to that daft prick.  I have no balls.

Attack of the Killer Mosquito

It was 5am when the Finance decided to wage war against a lone mosquito that had made its way into our closed bedroom last night.  He woke me up as he flicked on the lights like a mad man, eyes scanning the room with an intensity I've never seen before.    After a few moments went by frozen in complete silence, it was clear that no one would be sleeping until some blood was shed.  Obviously HIS.   Apparently mosquito drew one too many pints of Finances blood thru the night, and he was beginning to look like he might need a krispy kreme doughnut, or at the least a very large tube of Caladryl Lotion.    It would figure that the one time you want to find a mosquito, and you expose every blood pumping inch of fleshy goodness to one in the middle of a room, that it wouldn't take to long to get a 'hit'....but this mosquito was smart.

I saw it go into the closet, and it was lost at that point.  Finance gave up waiting, put his clothes back on in defeat and almost in tears crawled back into bed.  He whispered to me 'I hope he doesn't figure out there is a 2 inch gap at the bottom of the door'.  Then he pulled the sheets to cover all but one ear...to which he declared 'so i can hear him comin'' and went back to sleep.  Poor guy. 

America: Where Everything 'May cause cancer'

Every time I turn on the news, there seems to be some new discovery about something that we've been told to do because its good for us that will now lead us to a quicker certain death.

MY GOD!!!  One day its our cellphones, the next its my antianxiety medication thats going to make me suicidal, today its the teflon in the pots I use to cook my dinners.  http://www.cnn.com/2005/HEALTH/conditions/06/30/epa.teflon.ap/index.html

I am just waiting for them to tell me that every time I have highlighted my hair I've lost brain cells.  Or the moist contenelle toilet paper I wipe my ass with is linked to rectal cancer.  OR that my Lexapro while staving off my panic attacks and strong daily urges to press the eject button and launch myself into outer space to leave it all behind, is going to make me more suseptable (sp?) to alzheimers disease. 

Summer of THE FLEA

This is the little fucker that I slept with last night that hitchhiked in on that masked beast in the upper right hand corner of this page, Marley, into my bedroom--where said dog found a cool spot on the bed to have a little siesta while we were out.  This is what happens when I forget to close the bedroom door.

Now I have a pimple sized bite on my WRIST of all places that itches like HELL.  So I did some research this morning, b/c I thought to myself on the way to work 'why does a flea bite itch?'.  I found out more information than I ever wanted to know about the flea, along with this picture that resembles something more like some kind of mutant extraterrestrial gopher/lobster/mantis thing.  It conjures up thoughts of the horrible things I did to my Mr. Potato Head.

So these bloodsucking freaks of nature that are impossible to catch or kill...have run amuck in our home.  I sware the other day I saw Marley on his back waiving a white flag. 

I don't know which is worse the mosquitos, or the fleas...but all the more reason why we have to get the hell out of the SOUTH!

No Swinging Dicks Please...

My girlfriend since college recently called me up to notify me that she and her husband had selected a weekend to come up to the ATL with their friends and host their Bachelor(ette) parties.  She informed me that they had decided so as not to 'create problems' they had agreed to a few hours spent doing 'their own thing' and then would reconveign at a later time that evening for a co-ed party.  This would allow them both the freedom to have their guilty pleasures and indulge in whatever enterainment they please without question.  We'll call her H.  She was giving me the rundown I suppose to get a feel of whether or not I would be 'in'.  In to joining her and her other girlfriends stripclub hopping. 

I was, and am, NOT IN.  Here is the thing.  Anyone who knows me well, knows that while not a prude I am not exactly a fan of porn, or strip clubs.  So you can imagine how I feel about Bachelor(ette) parties that promote getting your friends completely shit housed and then paying someone to shake their ass in their face.  This is apparently a 'right of passage'...what has been considered as 'the last night out'.  Im sorry, whose brilliant idea was this?  I know it couldn't have been a woman...and it is my belief that only recently have women started engaging in similiar acts of pre-marital debauchery...because they have realized 'hey, if i can't beat em join em'...and that is just lame.  To me, it is the same as a guy saying that he needs porn like he needs water... because its 'a guy thing'.  puuuuuhhhhlease!!!

I never knew a man who couldn't go on because he was unable to wank off to a naked woman.

It enrages me that we promote and perpetuate this tradition simply because it's 'what you do'.  thats such a cop out to me.  I guess one would have to take a hard look at their friends, b/c they are the ones who are responsibile for coordinating the kind of party that might be of interest to you. 

So, I guess the question is, WHAT IS THE BACHELOR PARTY REALLY ABOUT??  Because it seems to me, that when you mix naked people with shit tons of alcohol you are practically BEGGING for indiscretion.  I don't care if you have the most honest, trustworthy man/woman in the world.  Period.  You are asking for trouble...and WHY?? WHY WHY???  I mean, is it supposed to be the ultimate test of fidelity? I say its Russian Roulette....I could sware up and down that I could never cheat on the person I love, but do I want to get tanked and have a beautfiul naked man waving his hard cock in my face begging for me, while my girlfriends are cheering him on?  Forget that it happens to be the night before your wedding...it doesn't matter!  It's just STUPID.  and who really feels good about themselves the next morning? 

I think I'll pass. 

So I told H no.  And if she wanted to turn my decline into a reflection of commitment to our friendship she should be very careful before 'going there'.  I can't be a part of something I feel so strongly adverse to.  If that makes me selfish or any less supportive of their healthy life together as a couple...than damn me!

So to any of my girlfriends out there, please No Cocks.  I'd love to party and can sure drink a beer or two, but I want my bachelorette party to be a kick off celebration of starting a new life with the man I love not one that tests my ability to make sound decisions under the most temptuos of circumstances. 

I don't know, if you need 'one last night of freedom'...you probably aren't ready for marriage.