Etcetera, Etc.

I'd Like to Make a Withdrawal, Please

2011-10-17T15:22:00.001-05:00

Getting my attention doesn't take a lot---keeping it is another story. I generally give people 30 seconds to get to the crux of their point before I start to phase out mentally. And trust me when I say watching Sponge Bob Square Pants has nothing to do with my piss poor attention span---it was all Electric Company. When given the choice, however, of reading an actual newspaper or perusing articles online, I will always choose the actual paper which admittedly is a curious choice. There's just something about holding a newspaper that makes me feel smarter. Of course the kind of articles I tend to navigate towards are rarely found in a reputable periodical. Take for instance this headline that asks the age old question: Is it Safe to Have Sex with a Yeast Infection."

Okay you got me, there is nothing "age old" about this inquiry and if there is how completely fucked up is that? Without even reading the article I'm just going to answer no, no and fuck no it is a terrible idea unless one has an insatiable curiosity to find out what it's like to fuck a bowl of cottage cheese. Granted I have done little to address the overall "safety" concerns but is that really necessary? Sure, the majority of us have partaken in the whole period sex thing but with age comes considerable wisdom: menstruation, bread baking and crotch itch are ALL viable excuses NOT to have sex with your husband or partner. Call me crazy but I welcome the opportunity to use a viable excuse to take a break from sex.

Matt and I have reached an entirely new low when it comes to sex---not as low as contemplating having intercourse in midst of a yeast infection but low just the same. Because of our fucked up schedules as of late, carving out some KY Jelly Time has been challenging. The truth is when I'm parenting solo I just want to watch 1 hour of mindless TV and go to sleep. It's not that I don't miss Matt or miss sex, but the mere thought of parting my legs and then having to move just seems insurmountable. Of course I do try to insert the "quickie" into our daily lives which is often times met with disdain which I can't quite understand. Okay maybe it's not the most romantic thing when I say "assume the position" but aren't dudes supposed to like the quickie? I thought spontaneity was awesome?

I have come to learn over the last few months that if I promise some quality "nookie" time after the kids go to bed, Matt wants it in writing. No, I'm not fucking kidding you. Just yesterday I gave Matt a kiss that lasted longer than 20 seconds followed by the promise of putting out which resulted in Matt grabbing a Post It Note, writing down exactly what I had promised out loud and making me sign it. All that was missing was notary. He even produces my text messages to hold me to the suggestive messages I have left. Really? It's not enough that I sent you a text expressing my wish to suck your dick but now I actually have to do it?

Because I still view this blog as providing somewhat of a service, (rolling my eyes), let me share a mistake I recently made so you can avoid it in your own marriage or relationship. To compensate for our apparent lack of quality sex time, I told Matt I had spent some quality alone time with myself in hopes he would find the visual appealing. Whether it did or not still remains unknown and I found myself instead entertaining a series of questions of what exactly I was thinking about while engaged. I found myself kinda screwed---literally. You see the contents of one's spank bank are truly sacred and while Matt's essence is certainly represented, let's just say he has company. And before you all start screaming how terrible I am, let's settle down and be honest for one minute---no spouse is front and center in one's spank bank. Look the beauty of having a spank bank, whether you are a guy or girl, is taking a bunch of different experiences and rolling them into one to satisfy you at that moment. Could this knowledge be hurtful to your loved one? Of course. That's why you don't talk about it---ever (note to self). One could argue that I'm teetering on a morality issue but I'm just putting in writing what everyone knows to be true. Morality comes into play if you make a conscious decision to make that spank bank a reality and while I would love to play shrink, my attention is only good for 30 second increments.

But for the love of god is it safe to have sex with a yeast infection? Yes---you can get your freak on while baking a batch of Ciabatta bread between your legs with little fear of passing on your yeasty goodness to your male or female partner. Of course it is going to itch and burn like a mother fucker but if pain is your game then god speed. And as pointed out by said article, " Decisions regarding sexual activity during a yeast infection ultimately depend on what you and your partner feel most comfortable doing." In other words, I would insert a clause into your sexual contract exempting yourself from such activity. I sure as hell did on my Post It Note Sex Contract.

10 Times 4

2011-10-14T16:44:00.000-05:00

Besides being asked "where in the hell is your blog," the second most commonly asked question I've been fielding is "how is 40 treating you?' Now that I'm 3 weeks in I'm happy to report I'm not dead nor suffering from dementia or incontinence, (okay that's only half true---so long as I sneeze or laugh with an empty bladder I'm all good). The truth is my body has been acting older for the past 5 years whereas my maturity seems to be digressing especially when it comes to farting in public and calling people names, (douche bag and asshat are in heavy rotation at the present time). But as much as I would like to tell those of you on the brink of turning 40 that's it's "no big deal" I can't because if you do the math, it is a half way point for some of us---half way to dead. And I wouldn't be well me if I didn't point out some of the real joys of getting older and urging all of you to throw yourself a really kick ass party because honestly, it could very well be your last.

When my mom turned 40 my dad rented a huge sign with an arrow that lit up and positioned it in our front lawn. Too bad our house was in the middle of a cul-de-sac and was only seen by the 2 neighbors on either side and the neighbor directly across the street. Never the less, the point wasn't lost upon me...my mom was officially "old." And while the "Over the Hill" crap is now geared more towards 50 and over, there was no sense in denying the obvious---I was now the one who was "old" [insert Poise Pad joke here].

I really didn't need 40 candles to affirm some of the reality already surrounding me with turning older. I had already purchased a 7-day of the week pill container to house the plethora of vitamins I choke down everyday so I can avoid eating healthy. And Matt's increasing concern of my consumption, (or lack thereof), of milk and everything dairy came to a head when he said, (and I quote), "I don't want you to get that osteoporosis thing." That's right folks, according to Dr. Matt, osteoporosis is a thing not a condition and shouldn't be taken lightly. Well given the choice of chugging a glass of milk or getting gum stuck in my hair, (feel free to choose the region), I would rather deal with a wad of gum. And don't get me started on yogurt. Jesus, who wants to consume something that is a considered a "live culture?"

I told Matt I didn't want a sign in the yard flashing "Over the Hill" but rather a party featuring a keg, carbohydrates and a DJ. Why a DJ and not an iPod? Personality people---personality. I wanted a DJ to get this party started and to keep it started until I had to shut it down at 10:00 p.m. (dictated by a Wheaton Ordinance that clearly states noise levels have to drop significantly after 10:00 p.m. if said party is held outdoors). After attempting to contact 2 "referrals" and being informed they were booked, I was left at the mercy of Google to find me a kicking DJ....

The problem with booking anything online is you really are at the mercy of God. Granted I read through a half dozen "reviews" but at the end of the day I was more concerned with how much my DJ Jazzy Jeff was going to cost not the attire my DJ was going to be wearing. Note to self: you get what you pay for dumb ass. For the sake of anonymity I am not going to tell you the name of the DJ I had, rather I will share the nickname bestowed upon him---DJ Old Balls. I had the pleasure of talking to DJ Old Balls on the phone a little over a month before my party and the red flags started to shoot up the minute I heard his voice. I became so concerned that Lawrence Welk was DJ-ing my party that I actually called and emailed the company expressing my concerns followed by a request for a younger DJ. Imagine my surprise when I received an email back from the owner of the company basically accusing me of age discrimination and while I may prefer a younger, more virile DJ, (like DJ Pauly D. for example), I would be quite pleased with the experience of having an older DJ. Translation? You are fucking stuck with DJ Old Balls.

The day of my party I started drinking at 1:00 p.m.---the morning was spent at a spa where I had to excuse myself to pee in the middle of getting my hair done because I drank a Trenta Iced Tea. Based on the look on my stylist's face, I think she concluded I probably had a case of diarrhea but honestly I didn't. So when DJ Old Balls pulled up at 5:00 I was grateful I was buzzed because not only was he old, but so was his "helper"/"groupie" who looked exactly like "Blue" from the movie "Old School". Hence for the remainder of the night he was referred to as "Blue"; "You're My Boy Blue" and "Let's Go Streaking in the Quad, Blue". I was just happy that they didn't have actual LPs and a turntable.

The beauty of hosting a party with 50 of your closest and damaged friends in attendance is there is no shame in finding out the "back story" of a situation. It became a mission of sorts to find out as much as possible about DJ Old Balls, Blue and how in the hell these 2 got together. Here is what was discovered:

1---DJ Old Balls was more than a DJ---he was a Frank Sinatra impersonator/singer. To be clear, I'm using the words "impersonator" loosely---like a bowel movement. Of course once this gem was uncovered, he was asked to serenade me with some Sinatra tunes---at 7:30 p.m.. Once again, I was very glad my alcohol consumption had begun at 1:00.

2---Blue met DJ Old Balls while bowling. The 2 got talking and DJ Old Balls offered him a job---not because Blue loved music or had any musical background but because DJ Old Balls had a bad back and needed someone to do the heavy lifting. Did I fail to mention that Blue had to be at least 70?

3---Prior to becoming a DJ/Frank Sinatra impersonator, DJ Old Balls was a drummer. Familiar with the song "I Fought the Law and the Law Won?" DJ Old Balls was the drummer on that track. [It was at this point that I completed pissed myself laughing and had to go inside to change my underwear].

As you can imagine, with so much going on it was easy to lose track of the time so thank goodness DJ Old Balls let us all know he was done for the evening by playing the Loony Tunes theme song "That's All Folks." As I made my way over to the DJ table to thank them both, I was presented with 4 CDs of all the music that was played---except for the Madonna remix which DJ Old Balls created himself. A few days later a popped one into my laptop to find that none of the songs were labeled---just adorned with the phrase Track 1, Track 2, Track 3 etc. Despite the fact I will never live down the DJ experience DJ Old Balls and Blue provided I can honestly say I wouldn't have changed a thing. I plan on asking them back for my 50th.

Where in the Hell Have You Been?

2011-09-01T08:55:00.001-05:00

Holy crap! I take a 2 month break and the world of Blogger has changed dramatically. While I don't expect to be consulted on format changes, I do find it a bit unnerving that my once familiar space is no longer, (not that the above statement means anything to you, the reader, because you can't "see" the changes. Dear jesus I think I might be on the spectrum).

So what in the hell did happen? Why did I stop writing? Is it lame to say I really don't know? Granted, I loved receiving a handful of emails asking when I would start posting again but not even the unsolicited attention could coax me back into the world of Etcetera, Etc.. Was I playing hard to get? Did my insatiable appetite for everything sex dry up? Did I lose my ability to get a clitorial hard on? Oh my dear readers don't fret---I can still muster up a dull throb in my southern hemisphere. The truth is I just needed a break---a break from myself.

In case you are wondering I still love beer, carbs and sex. Phew, right? But alas I found that beer, carbs and sex don't pay the bills---well they could I suppose. I mean how many people do you know can balance 2 Cheez Its on their erect nipples?(pictures forthcoming). And while the prospect of doing "legitimate" writing once seemed boring and perhaps unattainable, it is now possible. Sure, writing letters, creating proposals and developing marketing materials isn't the same as writing prose about Chris Brown's cock but at the end of the day, there is something fulfilling about having a finished product that I saw from its conception.

Of course I struggle with the usage of "mature" language---I mean how many ways can you say "we would appreciate" or "let's create a partnership" without resorting to "get off your fucking ass" and "let's cut through the bullshit and step up." A politically correct climate just about suffocates the shit out of me. Truth be told, if I were to receive a letter laden with the words "fuck"; "bullshit"; and even "anus" I would most definitely sit up, take notice and more than likely sign on the dotted line.

Okay enough about me pulling a Houdini---I know you all are here for one thing and one thing only....to see my tits. Sorry, my hiatus wasn't that long. But would you settle for some vagina talk? Wonderful.

I am always fascinated when I hear slang terms for the word vagina. My mother referred to my lady parts as a "tootie"---not to be mistaken for a Tootsie Roll but perhaps she was eating one when she came up with that gem. So imagine her horror the first time Emma said the word "vagina" at age 4. First of all she should have been astounded that my daughter with autism chose to say any word and second, that it was a sexual, (I mean duh, she is my daughter). Never the less, she couldn't comprehend why I would use the ACTUAL name for a woman's sexual organ. Well jesus, that is the proper name. Now I'll concede "vagina" is a shitty name---I much prefer "vag"---a one syllable word indicating strength and you have to admit, the vag is one strong mother fucker. But stacked up against "tootie" "vagina" wins.

I'm not ignorant---I know there are other names for vagina but what I never considered was the circumstances in which other terms can be utilized. Really? I've gotten to the point where my vag is either ready to go or needs a little assistance from some "cream", (oh yes, lube has entered the building---stay tuned for a future post). But what are these situations? And why in the hell are we even taking roll call? Courtesy of Frisky.com, here are the many "aliases" for the vagina.

When Discussing Female Health Matters With Your Gyno/Parents/Boss:

Business
Privates
Patsy

Okay I'm going to start with the obvious---why in the fuck are you discussing your vagina with your boss. Unless they are going to go down on you, (whether a dude or chick), I don't think one's labia should be discussed at work---EVER. Second---let's define the word "patsy": "1. a person who is easily swindled, deceived, coerced, persuaded, etc.; sucker. 2. a person upon whom blame is placed." For the record my vagina is not easily swindled, deceived or persuaded and certainly is not to blame for anything. Alright, in the past it could be persuaded....

In The Midst Of Ecstatic Love-Making With Your Sexual Partner:

Snatch
Kitty
Junk
Yoni
Punani

For the record, junk is a dick with 2 balls---a vagina is layers of goodness, like a cake. And if any of you are in the midst of making "ecstatic love" to me, I will mess you up big time if you yell out "snatch".

If You’re Writing The Next Great American Romance Novel:

Dew-flap
Rosebud
Sugar Basin
Love Tunnel
Lady Flower
Nonny-no

Nonny-no? That's sounds straight out of Mary Poppins. I always suspected Mary and Bert fucked.

If You're Writing A Term Paper On The History Of Sex:

Arbor
Attic
Cunnikin
Fanny
Nature's Tufted Treasure

Seriously, what kind of school are you attending if they accept these terms? Go back to ditch digging.

You Want To Make Someone Laugh:

Vertical Smile
Penis Garage
Badger
Mossy Cottage

Because nothing cracks a woman up more if you refer to her vag as a Badger or Mossy Cottage. We'll see who's laughing when I kick you in the nuts.

Phew---just like riding a bike. Glad to be back.

Source: http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-name-that-vajayjay-40-words-for-every-situation

Fall Back Men and Withdrawal

2011-07-07T11:59:00.000-05:00

The one nice thing about being married or in a long term relationship, (and yes, there is only one nice thing), is that you don't have to be courteous or shy when you have a bad case of gas, diarrhea or an itchy anus. You just state the facts to your partner, they nod their head and ask if there's anything good to watch on TV. The same can be said when it comes to bedroom etiquette. After a good boning, I always ask Matt to pass me a wad of Kleenex so I can wipe away his $2.00 and some change deposit before making my way to the bathroom. Of course sometimes he'll deny my request and ask me to "hold on to it" so I won't forget him. Right. Because thick goo that isn't being utilized for procreation is really awesome especially when it starts to run down your leg. Now fuck off and pass me the Kleenex.

There was a time that I thought housing a dude's deposit was kinda cool. After doing away with the dreaded condom and embracing the wonders of the pill, I kinda felt I had earned some sexual stripes because I was housing proof that some degree of passion had taken place. Well the novelty wore off fast especially after I was done having children and I was left wondering if I was the only woman out there tired of the goop and bouts of itchiness that sometimes followed. Turns out I was so not alone.

Until recently, I never considered telling Matt to "pull out" but I have since learned this once sloppy form of birth control is being utilized when birth control isn't even a factor. That's right, some women are putting their foot down and not accepting deposits. Really? This is a viable option when your married? Where do I sign up.

I scoured Google looking for an article to back this "no deposit policy" idea but alas could find none. However, friends of mine graciously offered up the information so if it is good enough for them, then by god it is good enough for me. Evidently man gravy causes one of my gal pals to have an allergic reaction resulting in a chicken pox like itch while another confessed that too much love juice can bring upon a yeast infection---and no one enjoys baking a french baguette. The most honest admission, however, came from a friend who declared jiz is just gross and lines her bed with towels to catch her husband's deposits as he pulls out. That's probably the finest example of compromise I have ever seen in a marriage.

I'm sure there are some of you thinking that this is beyond fucked---let's be honest, this entire post is beyond fucked up yet you are still reading it. It's like trying to explain to a dude why a woman refuses to swallow until you casually suggest they take a swig first. But just like anything debatable, there is always the "other side" to consider. In this case, spunk can be awesome (and taste great---not sure about the less filling part).

Dateline: New Zealand. Patrons visiting the Green Man Pub can indulge in a shot of holhoi tattea for $25. What exactly is holhoi tattea? Well my inquisitive friends, it is apple flavored horse semen. First of all, who knew horse semen in New Zealand tasted like apples? And contrary to what you might think, these shots, (quoted to be like a custard), are selling quite well. It just goes to show if you veil anything under the guise of a "Wild Food Challenge" people will line up. Seeing I like my apples dipped in caramel, I would have to pass. And given the choice of ingesting a shot of spunk or accepting a deposit in my vault, I'd take the deposit, (with no chance of it earning any interest, mind you).

Source: http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-horse-semen-anyone/

Give Me a Lite

2011-07-05T14:51:00.000-05:00

First some much needed housekeeping. A reader from Canada wanted to know "what happens when you get hand sanitizer in [one's] vagina?" Well I'm going to go out on a limb and say it probably stings like a mother fucker and highly suggest not doing it---ever. From all the literature I have read, the vagina has the unique ability to self-clean itself making it highly efficient, (as if anyone ever doubted that). Of course, like anything "female" it can turn on you in a millisecond but generally speaking, it doesn't need any sanitizing, (liquid or otherwise).

I would also like to set the record straight to the individual residing in Ohio who landed on my blog after googling the phrase: "Fish and Chips" "Sarah" "Anal Sex". First of all, I have NEVER written about fish and chips---while it's true I love beer, batter and the occasional salmon fillet, I am not a fan of deep fried fish placed in a paper cone adorned with fries, I mean chips. Now I will concede my name is Sarah spelled with an "h" and I have written a "few" posts in regards to the anal highway of love, but under no circumstances would I have written about food and getting it up the poop chute, (I would save such stellar commentary for a food poisoning/diarrhea type post).

So while we are are on the topic of food, I read recently that 2 Sonic locations in Florida will be selling beer and wine; keeping company with the likes of Burger King who recently opened "Whopper Bars" in Miami, Las Vegas and Kansas City. Beside the obvious "is that really necessary" reaction, who thought up the gem "Whopper Bar"? And do you get griddle marks on your ass from sitting on the bar stools? If you are like me, (which I truly hope you are not), you may be wondering why the sudden shift from soda pop and milk shakes to beer and wine. I mean its one thing to frequent a fast food joint to cure a hang over but to indulge while eating a double Whooper is another. Well, blame the economy, I guess.

"In a tough economy, the move towards alcohol is a way to compete with casual dining and can help boost typically slow evening business, says Ron Paul, president at Technomic, a restaurant consulting firm. "For consumers, it's basically about having it your way even if it's having a beer with your burger."

I'm all for having a beer with a burger---how do you think I survive an evening at Red Robin? (it ain't because of the bottomless fries). But shouldn't there be some kind of "line"? I mean for fuck sakes, you are getting your meal served to you on a plastic tray with some minor asking if you want fries with that. Of course Pizza Hut serves beer and wine as does Portillos, but I consider them different somehow but maybe I shouldn't. Despite my love for an iced cold beer, am I being, (gulp) old?

A couple of weeks ago I went to McDonald's with Emma and Jack in an attempt to make Jack eat something. Twice a month Jack will go on a hunger strike and refuse to eat anything but Custard Style Yogurt, (vanilla flavored mind you). During this particular strike, yogurt was even being refused so out of desperation I pulled out the "let's go to McDonald's for fries" bribe. McDonald's isn't on our normal rotation of restaurants because neither E or J will eat hamburgers or nuggets so as you can imagine, the choices are kinda limiting. Anyway, seeing I hadn't set foot inside of a McDonald's in at least 10 years, (I kid you not), I was a little taken aback by the following:

People are not patient as you try to find the best "combo" meal to suit your needs. Because I was in such a panic, I ended up spending $15.00 on 3 meals that included 1 (6) piece nugget, 2 fries, 2 shakes, 1 diet soda and 1 salad. I have a feeling I got hosed;
I had no idea you were given a "number" so you could get your meal, (in the "old days" the kid behind the counter took your money AND brought you your burger. I wish I had known about the number system because I didn't have my receipt and was forced to watch the trays in hopes I would find the one that was ours. You try doing that with 2 impatient spectrum kids;
I was unaware I had to get my own drink too which must have been evident by the look of confusion on my face because some dude in a suit jutted his finger out in disgust towards the self-serve station. Well pardon the fuck out of me. And btw chubby, you probably should reconsider that Big Mac and go with a fucking salad.

I just don't know how Burger King or McDonalds, (if they go down the booze ridden highway), will be able to police the situation. From the staff I witnessed at McDonalds half were under the age of 18 while the other half looked 2 days shy from their eternally resting place. I also don't see fast food places being a "destination" bar place---"hey I'm heading over to the Whooper Bar for happy hour. Who's in?" I do see this as a prime opportunity for those with a drinking problem to have more access to booze and grease at the same time. Of course those against the idea of fast food carrying liquor using the "it's a bad example for kids" argument, obviously haven't been to my house on a Saturday afternoon during the summer, (or Tuesday, or Thursday). But the argument does have some validity---if you can't scarf down a Whopper and wait to get home to wash it down with a beer, you may need a meeting. Now if you are partaking in a burger and bottomless fries in a restaurant that has a giant Red Robin walking around, that is another story entirely.

Some might accuse me of bias if I failed to mention that Starbuck's is also introducing booze on their menu. Fair enough but I think that's comparing apples to oranges. Personally the idea of lacing a cup of joe with some Bailey's Irish Cream is just what every suburban soccer mom needs, (and deserves). And I would have no problem forking over an additional $10 for a venti unsweetened iced tea done up Long Island style. Add on one of their cake balls on a stick, and you've got yourself one hell of a meal.

Source: http://www.digtriad.com/news/watercooler/article/181387/176/Sonic-Burger-King-Selling-Beer-To-Boost-Business

Shouldn't YOU Be a Gerber Baby?

2011-06-30T14:31:00.000-05:00

Once again Paula Deen transfixed me the other evening as she prepared deep fried garlic mashed potatoes rolled in crushed pretzels. This simple act on Paula's part created a dull throb in my groin area which was quickly alleviated by consuming a handful of pretzel rods, (I sucked the salt off them first, of course)

I want to eat like Paula. The problem with that, of course, is she's a freak of nature and has found a way to outsmart the realities of heart disease, diabetes, and high cholesterol her cooking would surely bring upon us mere mortals. Of course she may have a contract with Lucifer himself and when her time is up, her hell will be comprised of bean sprouts and tofu. It's like the people who are afflicted with "hollow leg syndrome" that allows them to inhale everything put in front of them without gaining so much as a half pound. These people are bastards and should be banished to some sort of compound.

I gave up long ago to try and be "summer ready" because honestly, summer is when I want to eat the most so long as it isn't too hot, (note to self: you could be skinny if you lived in AZ; consider moving). Take salsa for example---a pretty healthy dish especially if the ingredients are grown in your own garden. But I'm not just going to eat it with a spoon; it needs to be mounded atop a really good corn chip. Same thing with guacamole. Eating spoonfuls of it kinda makes me nauseous, but nestled within a Frito Lay Scoop, I'm a happy fucking camper.

Half the battle with weight is defining what your vices are. For me it's carbs and booze plain and simple. The only thing I have going for me is I do exercise everyday and have made a ~~concerted~~ half-assed effort to reduce my carbs, lower my fat, and up my protein, (and I ain't just talking about cock). At the end of the day, though, it's a wash. That's why I'm always on the look out for a new fad diet---not to actually try but to ask "are you freaking serious?" I mean it's one thing to assign points to food or calculate how many calories your are ingesting---tedious but I get it, but chugging down water flavored with lemons, Cayenne pepper and syrup is fucking insane, (yes husband of mine, I'm talking to you). But just when you think diets can't get anymore fucked, you run across a gem endorsed by "celebrities." The Baby Food Diet is one of those gems.

Yes you read this correctly---baby food as in Gerber, as in Beechnut as in Nature's Goodness. The crap in a jar you shovel into your infant's mouth just to ooze back out. The same shit you mix with rice cereal to mask the flavor of pees and green beans. And then when all else fails, you give into the terrorist demands of your 9 month old and graciously hand over 2 jars of fruit to ensure they don't starve to death. Well if your body repulses you that much, perhaps a steady diet of baby food is the answer for you. Here are the "guidelines."

Oh wait, there really aren't any guidelines because no one can quite determine if this is a good or bad diet, (I have an opinion but I will refrain for a moment). But here is how the diet is defined:

The baby food diet is a fad weight loss diet created by celebrity trainer Tracy Anderson. The dietary plan makes use of pureed baby food and its low caloric content. The small jars of baby food can help maintain portion control, which could lead to weight loss in some dieters. The baby food can be eaten as a nutritious snack between meals or even as a meal replacement.

Okay here's the thing---I already squirt out pee if I laugh too hard or have been known to have "accidents" if I go running too far without hitting the can before hand. It is a reality that Depends will be in my future just as pureed food will be when my fucking teeth fall out. Until then, however, I will be content to put on a panty liner to catch my trickles of urine and will continue to challenge my mouth to chew solid food. But for those of you interested in some "pros/cons" of the diet, I'm here to educate, (list can be found at http://www.dietsinreview.com/diets/Baby_Food_Diet).

Pros:

Baby food is free of additives, pure and full of vitamins

Portions are small enough to control cravings and avoid the temptation to overeat

Many selections are gluten-free for those on a gluten-free diet

Organic varieties available

Broad variety of flavors

Cons:

Small portions could lead to a binge later on

Taste is bland -Since very little chewing is involved, satiety might not be achieved

Okay for argument sake, let's say this sounds awesome---how many jars of baby food are we talking here? Well again, that's up for some debate, but the magic number hovers around 14. You can't tell me for one second that a person is going to divide up those jars evenly between vegetables and fruit---I mean who in the hell under the age of 1 would voluntarily eat a jar of green beans mashed up? Furthermore, why not cook your own, add some fucking salt then wiz it in the food processor?

I'm here to tell you I would rather be fat than ingest a jar of baby food willingly, (unless it is an "end of the world" kinda scenario and the times were beyond desperate). Furthermore, I can't believe Reese Witherspoon, Jennifer Aniston and Gwenyth Paltrow are hanging out poolside sporting a jar of food looking like a bowel movement. Yet again it is Hollywood and if anyone could make eating a jar of baby food look glamorous it would be a movie star. As for me, I'm firmly planted on Team Paula Deen---just roll me in crushed pretzel bits and I'm ready to party.

Source: http://www.wisegeek.com/what-is-the-baby-food-diet.htm

Rules of Engagement

2011-06-28T14:12:00.000-05:00

I had no idea my less than enthusiastic response to getting my ass smacked would throw so many people aback, (I fully realize only 2 comments were left on the "I Read it in MAXIM" post, but I do get inbox messages telling me my writing is either sheer genius or really shitty). I will have you all know that the other night while in the missionary position I decided to smack Matt's ass which garnered the response of "oh yea baby, do it again."

As with all things sexual in nature, I think it's awesome for women to articulate what they like in bed---including an ass smack. In my case, I think it's equally important to articulate that I will fucking break your fingers if you do it again. I would be lying, however, if I didn't admit that one of the reasons I don't like to be smacked is because I'm not the one doing the smacking. In other words I have a hard time relinquishing control. I'm not saying Matt hasn't manhandled me on occasion but those occasions are few and far between. And while my "control" issues have been ongoing in and out of our bedroom for years, I would say unequivocally the Alpha Dog in our relationship is definitely a bitch, (90% of the time).

Now that I have reduced the size of my husband's balls to raisins, (which truly is not the case---more like craisins), I suppose it would be wise to downplay the awesomeness of control by pointing out why it isn't so awesome. Well for one thing, there is a lot of stress coupled with not knowing how to relax which leads one to take 10 mg of Melatonin to sleep at night. Then of course there's the consumption of booze. Control freaks view liquor as a way of taking the edge off when in reality an Alpha Dog needs liquor just to be friendly. Of course even us control freaks would like a night off from uttering the phrase, "forget it, I'll do it myself." Is there such an outlet, however? Is it possible to succumb to another and become their bitch? Why yes there is. Can you say "cuff em?"

I love when I run across articles that give you the 4-1-1 on how to do something in the bedroom. I can't decide if it is genius or kinda pathetic. At the very least, it is a reminder to myself I do walk the anal side of life and do enjoy reading "how to guides" including how to decorate the perfect cake as well as how to successfully fuck another person's brains out. In the case of being tied up, however, I was unaware there are "10 Rules of Wrist Restraint" which in my opinion is a nice even number of commandments to follow.

1---Deciding What to Use. See I'm on board already because there are actual "choices" but the cuffs recommended have a "comfortable lining and that shut with either velcro or buckles." Why is this important? Well in case there is an emergency and a quick release is needed. Okay my vagina just tightened up a little with the word "emergency." Not recommended? Anything with a key and silk scarves, (silk scarves, if knotted, can be a real bitch to untie). And what about rope? Evidently that takes some skill to master with a suitable level of safeness, (note to self: don't fuck anyone with a rope aside from a cowboy).

2---Restraint Snugness. "Don’t make the cuffs too tight. You should be able to fit one or two fingers between the bondage and skin." In other words it's not a tourniquet people.

3---Circulation. In case you ignore Commandment #2, limbs that fall asleep is an indication you tied up your lover too tightly. Conversely, if the limbs start to turn a crimson color, you have really fucked up.

4---Nerves. Well the prospect of being tied up could certainly make a person nervous. Oh wait, they are talking about actual nerves. "If you tie someone up incorrectly, very important nerve paths can get pinched. The result is usually shooting or focused pain. Untie immediately to avoid serious nerve damage!" (I'm starting to think a release needs to be signed by the consenting parties prior to this kinda "play"---even if you're married).

5---Positions. Now I would just assume one would be lying on their back or maybe their stomach if being tied up, (or is actually tied down?). But said author of these tips points out one should not be tied up in the standing position. Good point---it may give one the feeling of being lead to the gallows.

6---Breathing. Now I could see this tip being shared if you were reading the guide "How to Breathe with a Ball Gag in Your Mouth," but the author felt it necessary to remind us that we must keep all air passages open during this kind of kinky play. (Affixing one's lover with a plastic bag over their head is an advanced course).

7---Alone Time. Now what would be the point of tying myself up unable to rub one out? Again, I misunderstood the context in which "alone time" was being used---my bad. "Don’t leave a bound person alone. If abandonment is part of your thing, pretend to make a dramatic exit and keep an eye on them from afar, checking on them every few minutes." A dramatic exit? Dear god this is starting to sound like theater in the round.

8---Check-In. As if having your partner's penis inserted inside of you isn't enough, it's recommended you "check in" to make sure he, (or she) is comfortable. I suppose asking if they want anything to eat or drink is optional.

9---Trouble-Shooting. Before I even define this for you, can I just say the words "bondage" and "trouble shooting" really shouldn't be used together. Honest to god, the process of tying up your partner really needs to be flawless. As defined by the author, however, trouble shooting entails, "being aware of medical conditions like joint pain, heart problems, bad backs, asthma, sexually transmitted diseases and infections, etc., since you’ll be responsible for their well-being once they’re tied up." Okay, really? Perhaps we should have a lawyer present.

10---New Partners. It is recommended that the practice of tying someone up should not be done with "strangers" unless you like the possibility of being thrown into the trunk of a car.

Source: http://www.emandlo.com/2011/06/the-10-rules-of-wrist-restraint/

I Read it in MAXIM

2011-06-21T14:13:00.000-05:00

I'm not going to lie, it's TMI time so consider yourself warned. The funny thing is when said "thing" happened, Matt literally said "fuck me you are going to write about this" out loud. That's right baby, I may be on the buzzed side of life right now, but my memory is solid, (just one of the many negatives being married to me).

I met a friend at a local bar Friday night for drinks and dinner. Matt is all for me going out because he knows he'll get laid if when I come home which is fair, quite honestly seeing he's technically footing the bill. So at the very least, he should get some putty. I rarely deny sex after drinking---I have to be on the verge of passing out or seized with a panic attack at the lateness of the hour. And despite the image I put out there, I don't drink to the point of passing out....very often. I'm just too old to feel like shit the next day.

So I left the bar at a reasonable time---8:45 to be exact and downtown Wheaton was a flurry of activity because Friday night is Classic Car Night. I was a bit surprised by the mixture of techno beats being broadcast over the sound system. In my humble opinion, a Classic Car night should be set to the music of Classic Rock---your Bob Seger, Eagles, Led Zepplin and the like. Or at the very least some Do Wop. I felt like I was on the set of the Fast and the Furious.

I suppose returning home with 2 Blizzards in hand from DQ wasn't really necessary---I was only slightly buzzed and it was already a given Matt was going to get a little somethin somethin so the only explanation I can give was it called too me and I just had to have one. Plus it's summer and there are just some things you have to do during the summer months which includes eating candy mixed in with soft serve ice cream. Interestingly enough, Maxim Magazine came up with a list of "50 Things To Do This Summer" which included the following:

Plan a road trip. Never go on it.
Pull your sweaty underwear out of your butt crack.
Get busted looking at cleavage.
Wear flip flops to work and never live it down.
Take a piss in the sea.
Hang out in CVS just because it's cold in there.
Drink outside every single day.
Close the drapes because the sun's glaring off the TV.
Buy a stupid hat.
Ruin a brand-new pair of white sneakers.
Cook beer can chicken.
Pretend to wash your car while staring at your neighbor's sunbathing daughter.
Try to have sex in a hammock. Settle for a hand job.

After finishing our Blizzards and noticing the hour hand was creeping close to 10:00 p.m., Matt and I made our way up to bed. Fueled by a sudden sugar rush, my buzz remained intact as I decided to make Matt my bitch. As you can probably surmise, I commanded my position up top and just as the ride was getting interesting, Matt smacked my ass causing me to say, "why in the hell did you smack my ass?" Caught off guard, Matt' stammered, "I read it MAXIM, (drawn out into multiple syllables). "What the fuck man, " I said, still perched up top, "you don't smack some one's ass without discussing it first." "What?", Matt replied, "I was supposed to discuss smacking your ass prior to fucking?" And with that he smacked it again. My response? A loud ass fart.

The next day I went back through the July 2011 edition of Maxim Magazine and could not find one article about the ass smack nor was it referenced in the "50 Other Things To Do This Summer" list. I think it's safe to say Matt was full of shit. Never the less, he tried it and paid dearly for it yet we still managed to forge out a happy ending. I guess we can check sex off for this summer.

Jumbo Baby

2011-06-14T14:03:00.000-05:00

So what is the deal with XL and Jumbo sized eggs? And how does a chicken lay one versus just a large? Some of you may already know the answer. Well la di fucking da you're smart and I'm dumb. No skin off my back, (and who the fuck made up that saying? Talk about gross). Turns out I'm not the only person wondering---someone by the name of "Princess" posted the following on Ask Yahoo, "Do Jumbo Eggs Come from Jumbo Chickens." While it is commendable Princess referred to the chickens as jumbo rather than "fat" or really obese, I think "plus sized" would have been appreciated. Despite thinking chickens are truly disgusting creatures that don't think twice about eating their food where they recently crapped, I am curious to know how one chicken can squirt out a large egg while its neighbor can grunt out an extra-large.

Turns out it's all about diet and how you "treat" your chickens. You see chickens naturally lay small eggs but with a little coxing, (and promises of riches), you can get that little bitch to increase her egg size. The science is pretty simple: the heavier the chicken, the larger the egg she will produce, (the amount of protein ingested by the chicken also plays a significant role). Sounds oddly familiar, (minus the protein part), of my own pregnancies.

As I have shared in a previous post, my diet while pregnant with Jack consisted of cans of condensed milk and the occasional can of cherry pie filling which yielded a child just shy of 10 pounds. In chicken terms, I would say I gave birth to a Jumbo. Emma wasn't quite a Jumbo; more like a Large coming in at 7 pounds despite my best attempts to eat a Chicago Style Hot Dog at every meal. But not to limit myself to just a savory craving, I found myself taking up residence at a local bakery---I mean finding a balance is really important.

When Matt and I first started dating, I think I ate my way through Chicago within 4 weeks. That's the beauty of meeting someone who is a "native" to the region and knows where the "best" of everything is. Of course my culinary palette didn't always agree with Matt's---take the deep fried polish. First of all, the place cooking these up was a dump and beyond filthy, (which is why you know people flocked to it). Second, I don't think they had but one working light in the entire establishment. Third, a deep fried polish can not be "enjoyed" unless it is 3:00 in morning---probably because one wouldn't notice the place was filthy and pitch black inside due to being shit faced. As you might surmise, a polish, (as in sausage), is first grilled then thrown into a deep fryer basket surrounded by French Fries then lowered into a vat of grease rarely or ever changed. It truly is a hot mess when everything emerges and thrown on a bun with a nice thick layer of grilled onions. While nothing would have pleased me more than to bite into that bad boy and impress the shit out of my new beau, I just couldn't take one for the team, (yet he still married me---shocking, I know).

Despite not being a huge sweets fan, I fell in love with a bakery Matt took me to the first week we were dating---Lutz's Bakery on the North side. Owned by a third generation Polish family, every kind of cookie, cake or pie you could imagine was offered up by these culinary geniuses. Besides an array of intricately decorated pastries, Lutz was known for their marzipan cakes and marzipan figurines. What is marzipan? It is a confection made up of sugar and ground almonds and can be used as fillings for cakes. It can also be molded into figurines to be eaten or collected. It's one of those things you either love or hate---unfortunately for me, love at first bite.

The thing about marzipan is it's expensive---back in the day, a slice of marzipan cake could run $8.00---it's rich so 2 people can easily share it unless the piece is mine than fuck off. The figurines shaped as bears, elephants or pieces of fruit started around $10 and while I appreciated the craftsmanship and detail going into each figurine, that didn't stop me from eating it, (Matt only bought me a figurine once and upon learning I ate it never did it again).

I truly thought the union I had created between Vienna Beef hot dogs and Lutz's marzipan cake while pregnant was a solid match. My unborn child was being treated to some real culinary gems and despite throwing both back up during my first and second trimester of pregnancy, it did not deter me from going back for more. Unfortunately, I was limited to my marzipan cake choices because 3 out of 4 contained alcohol and the girls working the counter wouldn't serve me a piece even after showing ID. I could have given two shits about the alcohol soaked cake layers---in the trash I say because it was the marzipan layer my baby and I craved.

For those first time mother's out there take advantage of my trials---hot dogs and marzipan will only result in a "Large" egg whereas the condensed milk/pie filling combo will yield you a Jumbo no problem. As for a deep fried polish sausage? You are on your own.

Bird Shit

2011-06-13T14:29:00.001-05:00

As I sit here on my deck writing this post, I am becoming increasingly aggravated by the smear of bird poop on the side of my garage. It has been there at least 4 weeks and you'd think with all the torrential rain we've had it would have dissolved by now. Yeah, not exactly. I am sorta amazed how a bird can shit at an angle, (I would post a picture but Matt has forbidden me from doing so), without careening into said object it's shitting upon. When I first noticed our garage had been blessed by shit, I promptly told Matt in which he aptly pointed to where our hose is located and wished me luck spraying it off. Well that's bullshit, (or bird shit in this case). There are certain "jobs" that are meant for men---cutting wood, plowing fields and removing globs of bird shit from one's house. For a solid week I would bring up the possibility of Matt removing the bird shit yet he remained steadfast with his opinion I was quite capable of spraying the house down myself---total bird shit. And while determined not to fold, I have given myself the deadline of June 30th to either accept the white glob of shit adorning my red cedar garage or to get off my ass and spray it off, (knowing full well it will be next to impossible to accomplish now that it is baked on....)

I always have a little trepidation when sitting on my deck. While we have done our best to surround the space with trees for privacy, it has done little to deter The Amazing Race from riding up the drive on their bikes. Of course they mask their "pit stop" as a visit, but the truth is my house serves as a rest stop so my mother can take a leak. After exchanging pleasantries the other day and explaining I did not have the next set of coordinates for their race, my dad asked if I still liked my Ultimate Sit-Up Machine. Whenever my dad asks for a product review you know he's just itching to make the same purchase. "Fine," I replied, "can't you tell?" as I sucked in as much cellulite as possible. With a dismissive wave of his hand and a half assed nod with his head, TK pressed on wanting to know how much it cost, where I got it, etc. When I told him the sit-up machines were now available at Target, he just about crapped himself, (which would have blended in quite nicely with my bird shit stained garage). What happened next I could not have predicted....he asked if he could try mine out.

As a general rule, I don't like my dad on the second floor of my house let alone my bedroom but as you can probably guess, my sit-up machine resides in my bedroom. I made the initial offer to bring it downstairs but my dad was already three strides ahead of me, (despite his age), heading up the stairs. And upon entry of my bedroom, I instantly got weirded out. It's like there was this huge neon sign hanging over my bed with description, "Sarah fucks here" or "Sarah sucks dick here." I know it's a pathetic admission to make at 39 but having my dad think I don't have sex seems completely logical too me.

My dad seemed pretty impressed---not by the red neon sign exclaiming "Sarah fucks here" but by the actual sit-up machine. I'm not sure how he envisioned it, but he seemed to think the design had some real promise, (this coming from the man who wears his baseball hat backwards while biking to make him more aerodynamic). As I lowered myself to the floor to give him a demonstration, (and trying very hard to forget what Matt and I had done the night before in the same space), I did a series of crunches which all ended with the "click" indicating I had done them correctly. I don't think he understood the "significance" of the click until he tried a series of crunches himself---none resulting in a click. Of course he blamed the setting of the machine not the fact his 60+ year old bod hadn't done a sit-up since Carter was President.

Upon exiting Life Time Fitness, (aka my bedroom), my mother asked if we eat a lot of eggs. Yeah you aren't alone, I was desperately trying to find some correlation between the sit-up machine and eggs too but clearly we were changing the subject. Evidently the grocery store they frequent---the one that sells dill in bulk and those delicious Mexican cookies---sells extra-large eggs for 49 cents a dozen (okay, for that price, maybe traveling through 2 counties does make sense). My mom graciously offered to pick up a dozen, (or more), for me the next time their travels took them to this magical store. I would have much preferred a dozen Mexican cookies, but sure, I'll take the eggs instead.

As I watched The Amazing Race saddle back up on their bikes and ride off I was left wondering if my dad would indeed purchase the sit-up machine, (and make it click), as well as how an extra large egg is "created," (versus its large egg counterpart). Damn my parents for leaving me a repertoire of unanswered questions. So here I sit, on my deck, gazing up at the glob of bird shit on my house waiting for those answers. I think I'll give myself until June 30th.

Perplexing I Tell You

2011-06-08T11:14:00.000-05:00

I am often perplexed and tend to blame my perplexion on impatience, imperfection and having a lower IQ, (and yes, I took the liberty of creating the word "perplexion" and could care less it is not a "real" word). Allow me to share some recent events that left me wondering really?

1---Tip Cup at Yo-Yo Yogurt. For those unfamiliar with Yo-Yo Yogurt, (not to be confused with Yo-Yo Bitch'in Yogurt), it is a self-serve yogurt place where you pump your flavor of choice with the option of adding "toppings" available at a kiosk. Upon completion of your master piece, you place your cup on a scale and a said yogurt expert/employee translates the weight into dollars and cents leaving you incredulous you actually pumped $10 worth of yogurt that is already half melted in your cup. So you can imagine my surprise when I saw a tip cup poised at the cash register. Let me see if I understand this----I pump my own yogurt, I sprinkle on my own toppings, I walk to you, cash register girl, place it on the scale and then hand you money. Is it the exchanging of currency that causes you to break out into a sweat? Is that considered heavy lifting? Why don't you spoon feed me a couple scoops first then we'll talk about a tip.

2---Garbage Day. Wednesday is garbage day here on The Blvd. and each week I am amazed some neighbors do not throw out garbage---recycling, yes, garbage no. Now one could suggest said neighbors have a compost pile, (doubtful but to be fair, I can not confirm nor deny), but despite my doubts, I am going to give them the benefit. But what continually nags at me is witnessing garbage bags being placed into one's car trunk. Of course the bags could contain a dismembered body or could be a week's worth of garbage being driven to some undisclosed location to avoid paying for garbage stickers. The jury is still out whether this is shear genius, (because paying for a sticker to place on one's garbage is fucked up) or certifiable loonacy.

3---Gray Sweat Suit Dude. When I first started my blog, I wrote about a dude in our neighborhood who could be seen "shuffling" in gray sweat pants and a long sleeve gray sweat shirt---not in the winter but in the fucking summer. He was obviously under some sort of weight loss plan that entailed snaking his fat ass into sweats hoping he would lose weight before dying of heat stroke. I hadn't given much thought about him, (it was 4 years ago after all), but holy shit, I saw him yesterday---same greasy gray sweat pants and shirt, shuffling down The Blvd. on a day where the thermometer was hovering just shy of 95 degrees, (close to 100 with the heat index). I even said holy shit out loud in the car to Emma, (go ahead, make the call to DCFS). I guess the dude still has some kind of death wish. Interestingly enough he didn't make me feel hot watching him but rather hungry for something really greasy.

4---All Sext Up and No Where to Go. I made a bold declaration on Monday that Anthony Weiner's schlong would be anything but awesome which I based solely on his looks, (I know, I'm a bitch). Well after scrutinizing the bulge contained within his gray Jockey shorts, I'm still not convinced, yet like a car crash, I keep gazing back. This guy is a major tool. I mean really, if you are going to sext, sext to people you know and trust, not complete strangers, (they so don't have your back). Lucky for us, however, the women Weiner was ogling have an equally low moral compass and are sharing some of his awesome sexts. I don't know about you, but I'd fuck him with gems like these:

"practice saying, 'god, anthony, I'm c****ing again.'" Will do Anthony. BTW...can I call you Tony?
"you will surely make noise when I take you deep." Not to diminish the gift you're bestowing but won't I be taking you deep? (Deep as into the bowels of hell deep?)
"ridiculous bulge in my shorts now. wanna see?" Yes, but I'm partial to plaid boxer shorts not gray.
"with me behind you can't we both watch daily show?" Finally a man who understands my need to watch TV while fucking. Where have you been all my life?
"wow a jewish girl who sucks c***! this thing is ready to do damage." Seriously, who knew Jewish girls secretly liked pork.
"i'm pretty chatty/noisy in bed." But can you also Tweet at the same time? If not, get the fuck out of mine.

Source: http://www.askmen.com/entertainment/galleries/the-best-worst-of-rep-weiner-s-erotic-texts-9.html

Gonna Tweet My Peet

2011-06-06T12:18:00.000-05:00

You know who likes getting their picture taken? Vain people. And despite my efforts to be extremely vain, I am definitely one of those who hates to have their picture taken. Blame my inability to embrace my numerous facial flaws or digger deeper and blame my overall low self-esteem---it really doesn't matter. Bottom line? I like being behind the lens, not in front of it. But I suppose it's important to have some record of what I look like for Emma and Jack because in the not so distant future I'll be really old and eventually dead ---not the most awesome reason to get photogenic but truthful all the same. As one might suspect, (or perhaps not), there are "ways" to look good in a photograph that doesn't entail removing articles of clothing---trust me, my twot may have the ability to bring men to their knees but only in the cover of darkness and sure as hell shouldn't be captured by flash photography.

I would like to think common sense would prevail when contemplating taking pictures of one's "parts" but as proven time and time again, there is a fine line between a man's common sense and his penis. Take this guy for instance---yeah I'm talking about you Weiner with the infamous tweeted penis bulge sent to a college student (allegedly). While you have remained steadfast your Twitter account was hacked, you still haven't adequately explained away the photograph or "lack of" authenticity which leads me to believe that the "bulge" may just belong to you. May I be honest and judge your book by its cover? I'm thinking you may have used the zoom feature of your camera....

Of all news sources, The Washington Post devoted a news story not about Weiner's wiener but the general insanity behind dudes taking pictures of their schlongs. The overall point? Women don't want to see pics of guy's dicks---even if attached to a hot piece of ass. I hate to break it to ya fellas, but the sight of your cocks doesn't get the ladies all wet.

Pretty bold pronouncement coming from The Washington Post, (and for those of you concerned about the value of such an article, it was published in the Lifestyle section not page 1). While psychologists agree what turns a woman on is dependent on the woman, the vast majority of women polled, (as in surveyed), admitted seeing a dude's junk did little to turn them on whereas a man seeing a woman's tits sends his cock into over drive begging the following question: are women just more sophisticated than their male counterparts or do we seriously need to remove the stick up our asses?

I am on team "keep it in your pants please" although I will be the first to admit I was way impressed by Chris Brown's display of man sausage. As a general rule, however, I don't want to see cock---I would much rather see those well defined muscles leading to the prize, (as displayed in the picture to the right), and if it's not too much to ask, a nice thin line of hair---you know, in case I get lost along the way.

Ultimately, the point The Washington Post article was trying to make besides not photographing one's penis is women would rather see a man "make a bed" and take a picture of said action rather than his wang. Honestly, that wouldn't do it for me either, (the dude to the right does it just fine, however). Subsequently, the article suggested photographing one's penis isn't romantic---well no shit but to suggest taking out the garbage is a bigger a turn on is a load of crap too, (although in my house, if you unload the dishwasher unsolicited, I will suck your dick).

Here's the thing---a woman may not want to see your junk in her "inbox" but if it performs well within her box, she will never forget it...even after said relationship has become null and void, (the same can be said for terrible lays, but that is for another time). And while women may not "exchange" pictures of the penis, we certainly will speak highly of the ones we have had or one's currently taking up residence in our vagina. It's those kinds of endorsements you men really want otherwise you are taking a mighty leap of faith that your dick is all that---just ask Brett Favre.

Source: http://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/listen-up-fellas-naked-man-parts-not-so-sexy/2011/06/01/AGMKSgGH_story.html

My Lips Are Sealed

2011-06-01T12:28:00.000-05:00

There is an individual residing in Lutz, Florida in search of information regarding a phobia of being bitten on the vagina. Again, I don't know whether to be horrified or flattered that said search ended up here, but I'm at a loss of how to help this person. I mean the very thought of someone actually taking a bite out of my roast beef curtains makes me faint. So like any unlicensed, non-expert would do, I did my own search to track down this phobia but alas I came up with nothing, not even a name although "bit o' labia-obia" came to mind. So I apologize to Lutz, Florida for coming up empty handed but I hope you can take some solace in the fact I am going to dedicate the rest of this post to "lips", (and throw in an asshole or 2 for good measure).

Three years ago I was given the coveted title of "Best Lips on The Boulevard." Just for clarification, we are talking about the lips on my face although I do rock one hell of a camel toe. The competition was simple enough---adorn your lips with some gloss, smooch an index card then a panel of male judges would declare the best pucker. As you might suspect, I over-exaggerated my pout and parted my lips a little wider than I normally would but when the prize is a miniature plastic trophy adorned with a pair of red wax lips, exaggeration really was a necessity. I later learned from Matt, (who happened to be a judge), that the criteria he and fellow judges used was simple---which lips look like they could give the best blow job. He must have been so proud when he learned I was chosen as having the best blow job lips. For those of you not blessed with blow job caliber lips, you aren't a total loser. May I suggest adhering a tattoo on your lips for shits and giggles?

The makers of Violent Lips, temporary tattoos have created an entire line of "stickers" in a variety of hues and designs, (including leopard print), to compliment any outfit. I'm still stuck on the name "Violent Lips" and the implication my mouth could suddenly turn violent with the application of one of these bad boys, (perhaps these tattoos are the source of Lutz, Florida's vagina biting phobia). The gals at TheFrisky.com did a nice job listing the pros and cons of applying lip tattoos including the ability to cover up a cold sore, (pro) and the chance someone might think your lips have a rare disease, (con). Oh and the obvious---no kissing with them on, (which leads to the conclusion that blowing some dude is also out). I don't know....rocking a pair of rainbow adorned lips may be worth the sacrifice....not.

But not to be out done by the asshole, (or assholes), who invented temporary lip tattoos, our labia lips can now be nestled into a pair of Junderpants. I know, what the fuck are these and why would I want to nestle my lady parts into them. As you can probably surmise, these are underwear made to "look" like jeans and as you can see
from the picture, you can still rock out a whale tale with your thong which is a huge relief---I mean it's one thing to wear "faux" jeans, but I still want to give the illusion I have a piece of floss grazing my anal cavity. Now all that's missing is the ever popular tramp stamp baring the words, "in through the out door" or in the case of Lutz, Florida, "please don't bite my vagina."

You WISH You Could Walk a Mile in My Shoes

2011-05-30T13:18:00.000-05:00

I often remind myself that you "can't judge a book by it's cover" or at the very least you really shouldn't. Whoever came up with that gem was really full of shit because not only can you judge a book by it's cover, but 9 times out of 10 you are right on the fucking money. I know it's wrong to do so---a person may only appear to be completely cracked out on the outside but on the inside they are a selfless soul. But really, how many times have you misjudged a person's character? Once, maybe twice? Sure we all have off days, but if there is a consistent pattern of douche bag like behavior, chances are that person is truly a douche bag.

Of course if I'm going to judge a book by its cover it's only fair my book be judged the same way. So if you get the vibe I'm impatient, opinionated with a flair for the dramatic I would say you have judged me accurately. That's not to say, however, I can't be surprising---just when you think I might sway to the left, I'll change things up and connect with my right. When I first started writing, I sorta sold the idea my life was an "open book"---so despite judging my book by its cover, (sporting a nice pair of DD breasts), I tried to impress upon my readers that I had no secrets. While I do pride myself with general openness, (even in my real life), no one's life is an open book completely. First of all, no one gives a shit, not even your spouse or lover. Second, not even the healthiest people believe self-disclosure is a sound choice. Can you imagine if they did? I guarantee you would see a spike in medication.

As of late, I have taken an inventory of the people in my life and have come to the conclusion this is probably the happiest I have ever been. Why? Well to put it simply, those I'm close to are a hot mess which to me makes them close to perfection. Simple people bore me and really nice people aggravate the holy hell out of me. I used to think I was just jealous or incapable of being a nice person. But that's not it. I simply found it exhausting trying to sort through what was true and what was complete crap. Don't get me wrong, I don't want a front row seat to peer into your soul, but for the love of god, I'll respect you more if you show a flaw, (even if it entails putting a sweaty glass down on a table without a coaster).

Despite the sanctimonious denials, we all judge people. For fuck sakes there's a science behind reading non-verbal language. I'll tell you one thing my fucked up posse of friends and I have in common---we are constantly smiling/laughing. It's true---if you can't laugh about the pounds of baggage you have you truly just need to surrender and die. I think the ability to read others non-verbally is a skill worth honing---it helps you sort out the truly annoying quicker. I even find some merit in the ability to determine if a woman has ever had an orgasm vaginally. Do I have your attention now?

God bless the sexologists at the Universite Catholique de Louvain in Belgium. They have figured out with 81.25 percent accuracy whether, (or not), a woman has had a vaginal orgasm during her life by watching the way she walks. Let's first clarify that a clitorial orgasm does not count---while awesome to have, most women will admit a real sense of achievement when they are able to climax without the benefit of added stimulation, (think of a vaginal climax as the Mount Everest of sex). So how can you tell, with 81.25% accuracy if a woman has come vaginally? Here's what to look for:

Longer strides
Greater pelvic rotation
Relaxed leg muscles and
“A gait that comprises fluidity, energy, sensuality, and freedom"

Interesting. As I'm going through my mental Rolodex I can see some correlation between the over the top nice and apparent lack of vaginal orgasms whereas all my mentally imbalanced friends have not only enjoyed their share of vaginal orgasms but quite possibly have made men drool in their pants with their gaits full of "fluidity, energy, sensuality and freedom." Proving the point you really don't have to read our books; our covers are all you could handle.

Source: http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-the-secret-to-knowing-if-a-woman-had-an-orgasm/

How About a Raincheck?

2011-05-25T13:07:00.000-05:00

I firmly believe there's a little bit of "spectrum" within all of us and Matt is no exception. His bedtime routine begins with checking on the kids, brushing his teeth, taking a quick shower and asking me if I want to "fool around" (said phrase is combined with a leg touch). At least I try to vary up the way I answer no: too tired; not in the mood; not tonight; feeling crampy; and I have to go make the donuts. These patent answers do little to deter Matt's libido because he always responds with "are you sure?" or "let me do something for you." That's when I'm forced to pull out a Boardmaker "NO" visual card and place it squarely on his penis.

While I like to think I have an above average libido, Matt would surely disagree---strongly. The problem with men is if you give them a consistent taste they are left wanting more. It's not like I don't want more ever, I just don't mind relishing in my orgasmic moment for a few days.

Last night played out no different and after completing our "do you want to fool around? "no I have to get up at dawn to milk the cows" routine, I finally asked Matt if he's going through puberty again because his hormones are outrageous. In a matter of fact tone Matt apologized for finding me attractive and rolled over with a huff. While I appreciate he finds me easy on the eyes, (without his glasses on, of course), I still had those damn cows to milk this morning.

Shockingly I tend to be a cause and effect kinda gal---I mean A+B always equals C, right? So in the case of a low libido, there's got to be some causes that would make me pause and say, "yup, makes sense." As one would suspect, however, the causes are fucking no brainers---it's finding a way to address them that poses the real challenge.

Cause #1: Stress

Stress blows and I often use it as an excuse not to screw. Of course Matt's PhD in fucking always counters my stress argument by saying my stress will be released if his penis can take up residency in my vagina for 6-8 minutes. Well according to "the science," "the body reacts to stress by releasing adrenaline and cortisol. Chronic stress, in particular, can interfere with your body’s hormone levels, and result in a low libido." In other words, the adrenaline puts me in prime condition for kicking some one's ass like the dude who thinks he has a PhD in fucking....

Cause #2: Depression

Just writing this post about having a low desire to screw is making me depressed. What makes the dance even more complicated is the real possibility an anti-depressant will suppress one's sex drive even more. I made the conscious decision to live with my cuckoo as well as I could because really, my ability to orgasm is one of the few things I have going for me.

Cause #3: Low Self-Esteem

This one makes sense but not really. If you are in a committed relationship, your partner has undoubtedly seen you at your ugliest. For example, a few years back Matt and I got hit with the worst flu bug ever. At one point I was on the toilet crapping while simultaneously throwing up in the tub which so happened to be the very place Matt was throwing up too. And when our episodes were over, Matt told me he loved me, (then we fucked---kidding).

Cause #4: Alcohol or Drug Use

I don't buy it. Alcohol takes my sex drive to places it has never gone before which is probably why Matt always asks, "so are we drinking tonight?"

Cause #5: Lack of Sleep

See I'm not full of shit! I'm just too tired to fuck. The solution? Get more sleep. These people are geniuses.

Cause #6: Lack of Time

Legitimate to an extent, but if MC Hammer can schedule in some "Hammer Time" then I truly think scheduling "Cock Time" is realistic. I'll admit I used to put up a fight when it came to day time nookie---even in college when I was rocking a much better bod, I still had articles of clothing on. Blame it on low self-esteem or little desire for my come face to be shared during the light of day. Now a parent with 2 kids, time is definitely my enemy and I have learned to put aside any reservations and insert said penis no matter what hour of the day.

I could go on with the "causes", (the fucking article had 12), but I don't want to ruin what little horny juice I do have running through my veins. Seeing the article did little to suggest ways to overcome these issues, I am going to give one: get drunk, get a vibrator and be happy that some dude, (or dudette) has taken pity on your sorry ass and made a commitment. Now quit your whining and spread em' (that means you too blog author).

Source: http://www.everydayhealth.com/erectile-dysfunction/causes-of-low-libido.aspx?xid=nl_EverydayHealthSexualHealth_20110521

In the Beginning We Were All Beginners

2011-05-23T15:40:00.000-05:00

Lord have mercy, someone from South Haven, Michigan needs some help stat based on the Google search that landed them on my blog, (and I quote): "why do surgical masks give me a boner." Well sweetheart I truly do not know and to be honest, I think that's one puzzle I would prefer not to unravel. In the scheme of things, however, I would be grateful wood is the only thing you're sprouting and not a desire to hack someone up with a knife ala "Halloween" or "Scream" style, (masks tend to get an overall bad rap). Never the less, if your boner is well concealed while visiting your oral hygienist or occasional visit to the ER, I'm going to rule "no harm, no foul my brother."

I am the last person who's going to judge what turns a person on---I have a laundry list of eye brow raising turn-on's that include dudes that are left handed; dudes with scruffy facial hair; and dudes who are on the more "meaty" side, (me loves the girth). I also dig a guy who can rock a baseball cap, a nice ass watch and shirt and tie, (excuse me while I adjust my panties). Of course Mr. Surgical Mask could be new to the "holy fuck that is so hot" side of life---I mean we all started somewhere. And there is something endearing about being a novice.

A novice, of course, is a person new to or inexperienced in a field or situation. And even if you have been successfully screwing for 20+ years, there are always new things to learn, new holes to explore or in the case of "devices", sex toys to be had. Leave it to The Frisky to come with a list of "8 Must Haves for the Sex Toy Novice", (and for my dear fan in South Haven, Michigan, I am wearing a surgical mask while typing).

1---Put Me on Love Handcuffs

Nothing says "love" like cuffing your partner like a dirty criminal. Personally I like the decorative touch of the fur because as we all know, handcuffs chafe big time. Unfortunately these would have little use in my own bedroom because I am the proud owner of sleigh bed---I wonder how Santa works around that problem?

2---The Rocket

I'm going to be honest---these scare the crap out of me. It looks like a can of Play Dough that has gone terribly wrong.

3---The Sonic Ring Kit

Okay seriously what the hell? I am a novice when it comes to the whole cock ring thing---my dudes have always gone long and strong. This piece of work looks like one of those Chinese throwing stars. I'll pay one of my male readers $10 bucks if they try this with their lady, (or throw it an an enemy during a street scuffle).

4---Batteries (yes this actually made the list)

I think there is a difference between being a novice and just plain stupid.

5---We Vibe II

Honest to god this is not a Blue Tooth. According to the creators, this little ditty provides stimulation to your clitoris while working your G-spot from the inside and, (are your ready?) all while your dude's dick is inside you. I say bullshit but I can barely chew gum and walk. For those up to this insane challenge, here is a diagram, (and please drop me a fucking line if you manage to pull it off).

6---Sliguid H2O

Well that sounds refreshing. Oh wait, that's the name of a lube. I have not personally tried this but according to the article, it is the BEST lube around. Not to brag or anything, but when I get my vibe on I don't need lube. That's right, my vagina is AWESOME.

7---Tenga Egg

This one is for the gents. Step 1: unwrap the egg. Step 2: open the egg. Step 3: take silicon egg out. Step 4: squirt enclosed lube packet inside opening of the silicon egg. Step 5: insert penis into your very own pocket pussy, (it stretches down the shaft of your dick). Step 6: Cum like a mother fucker. Step 7: discard cum filled egg or keep as a souvenir---entirely up to you

8---Sex Toys 101, (the book)

It is incredible to think even a novice would need a book to master the art of masturbating. Fuck! Why didn't I think of that??

Source: http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-8-must-haves-for-the-sex-toy-novice

Boot Up My Ass

2011-05-17T14:46:00.000-05:00

As of late I haven't felt very inspired to write. It's not like I'm depressed---on the contrary I've been pretty "even" which is saying something, (although I guess it depends on how you define "even"). Posting less this year was a conscious decision at first---I mean how much Sarah does the world wide web really need. But as the weeks have ticked by this year, I find it harder to find entertaining topics. Sure, sex is timeless but even writing creative discourse about intercourse proves challenging. Although Matt and I did have a lengthy discussion about the pros/cons of licking some one's butt hole---I couldn't come up with one pro whereas Matt said if mine where newly "out of the shower" clean and I felt it a necessity for our relationship he would do it. Seriously man there's some things you should never admit out loud, (because now I'm obligated to share it).

So what the fuck is my deal? I have a nice little audience who does read me regularly and I certainly have a husband more than willing to contribute, (granted unknown to him most of the time). Am I in the midst of some sort of crisis? Have I (gulp), lost what little funny I thought I had?

A few weeks ago I toyed with the idea of signing up for "hot yoga" because I felt I needed a change in my exercise regiment. After some more thought, I just couldn't reconcile the idea of paying to enter a 90+ degree room and having to smell other people. Even Matt raised an eyebrow and said unless they were pumping in the smell of fresh baked bread, I wasn't going to be too happy. Point taken. [Note to self: create a gym that pumps in the smell of chocolate and fresh baked bread]. So with yoga out, I still felt I needed "something"---that something my friends is Boot Camp.

Boot Camps have hit the suburbs hard, (probably because we drive everywhere and are way fat). Offered through the park district, the Boot Camp I registered for is twice a week for an hour with the promise of, "getting you into the best shape of your life by breaking down the mental and physical barriers that may be keeping you from reaching your potential." You mean I will not only have lickable abs but the mental barriers that have plagued me my entire life will dissipate? I certainly can give you 2 hours of my life for that!

Perhaps the most entertaining part of the park district's description of Boot Camp was its disclaimer: "Sure, we call ourselves a Boot Camp, but no body's going to yell in your face or intimate you! Our personal trainers love to laugh and have a good time...." Well park district, I'm a little disappointed---I feel humiliation gets to the core of every one's inner demons. Sure being called a pussy and a fat ass may be hurtful to some, but really, why else would we be there? I We can't stop eating the carbs; I we can't stop drinking booze; and if given the choice, I we would rather watch the movie Backdraft for the umpteenth time rather than go outside.

As you can probably surmise I am looking forward to seeing what my fellow booty campers will look like. I know it's wrong to make stereotypical assumptions but trust me, I have them anyway. The truth is I'm not there to make friends, (you'd be hard pressed to find any situation where I am in it to make friends); I'm there to prove to all of you my Ultimate Sit Up Machine has prepared me well for such a challenge and to undercover the "real" reason people signed up for the class, (I'm guessing mental health reasons supersede being a fat ass).

As I was handed the "waiver" to sign I did so without hesitation. Go ahead you fun loving smiling trainers push me with your medicine ball crunches and hand weights---this bread loving beer guzzling 39 1/2 year old is ready. Just so you know I'm not coming to laugh, I'm coming to feel the burn. And don't mind me if I call YOU a pussy; just getting my "boot on."

Two Ladies and a MILF

2011-05-13T13:20:00.000-05:00

When I hear rumblings of someone I know going out on a date night I seethe with jealousy. Of course I'm happy for them to a degree, but my initial, "You bastards! You found a sitter on a Saturday night" is normally my first reaction. If you are a parent, date nights are miraculous---as miraculous, (or perhaps even more), than the birth and resurrection of Jesus combined. In our case, it sometimes takes a village to make a date night possible seeing our kids tend to be on the more "high maintenance" side.

For the majority of parents, date night involves the following: food to be eaten by real utensils; a collared shirt for the gentleman; heels for the woman; liquor; and end of the night nookie. Of course a couple can chose to vary some of these, but end of the night nookie is non-negotiable, (hear that ladies?).

We actually have 2 sitters that aren't relatives which is gift. I now only call upon my parents to watch Emma and Jack when we want them to spend the night otherwise I'm met with the 3rd degree on what we are doing and when we are returning home. I'm always perplexed as to why my parents feel it's necessary for an itinerary---the last time I checked I was of legal age so if Matt and I want to go fuck in a car and do tequila shots it's all good. My brother has suggested that perhaps it's my parents who need to return home at a certain hour to receive their next set of instructions for the Amazing Race. Whatever the reason, I much prefer to use our other sitters who don't give a shit when we come home or whether we smell like sex or booze.

When Matt and I go out not involving friends, we tend to keep our plans very loose. Our evenings always begin at a restaurant and 9 times out of 10, we end up sitting at the bar for the duration of the evening. Sure, we enjoy having a stress free meal and plethora of alcohol choices bestowed upon us, but it's the people watching we enjoy most of all. Sure, we carve some time out to "reconnect" but honestly, we can accomplish that in under 30 minutes. It's the uninterrupted "what the fuck is that guy wearing" commentary both Matt and I enjoy immensely.

A few weeks ago Matt surprised me and said he had arranged for a sitter so we could go out. "Really?" I said enthusiastically, "with who?" "Your parents," Matt replied. Great---not only do we have to be home by 9:00 but I have to pretend I'm sober. But not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, (or at least not too much), I was looking forward to eating at a location without some scary dude making balloon animals.

The original plan was to grab a bite to eat and go see a movie---I knew damn well we wouldn't make the movie. I would like to say we got all hot and bothered in the car, but the truth is I have flashbacks from one particular time The Amazing Race watched the kids and Matt and I went to see Batman. We came home to both my parents were waiting at the door---literally which prompted Matt to ask if we were grounded for being late. I mean for christ sakes it was Batman---it's going to take at least 2.5 hours to kick the Joker's ass. So yeah, I tend to nix most movie dates.

As Matt and I settled into dinner and commenced our "30 minute reconnection conversation," I happened to notice 3 women sitting at the bar. Super models they were not and I sorta felt they could have put forth a little more effort to primp for a Saturday night out. Within minutes we, along with the entire bar area, came to learn the three women were "sisters" out celebrating one of their birthdays. Fantastic. Now how about turning it down 3 notches because it is only 7:30 and no one is drunk enough to care at this point.

Now before you say it I'll admit I'm being a little harsh but there are degrees of "loud" and these broads were too fucking loud for 7:30. And despite the option of moving, Matt and I decided to watch this party train roll down the tracks. And not to disappoint sister #1 ordered a round of Goldschlagger---interesting choice for 7:40. Now while sisters #1 and #2 choked down their shots with some eloquence, sister #3 and said birthday girl decided to sip hers---because sipping on liquid cinnamon is way ass refreshing.

The Pointer Sisters quieted down for awhile---(and no, they weren't black nor were they singing just a name I'm assigning too them) and Matt and I decided to have one more drink and head home to watch "Black Swan" after I reassured Matt there was a lesbian scene in it despite it being a "ballet movie." That's when we heard the ever dreaded phrase one woman can ever say to another woman, "Can I be honest with you?" Oh god please don't especially after making love to your Goldschlagger shot. With the nod of her head, sister #3 leaned into sister #1 and said...."You are a fucking hot MILF...." Dear jesus I didn't see that one coming....

As if clarification was needed, Matt whispers, "Did that woman just call her sister a MILF?" That's a 10-4. "So she's essentially telling her sister she'd fuck her?' It would appear so if you are to take the meaning of MILF literally. "Well that's fucking gross although it's probably the only offer that broad is going to get all night." Your compassion is overwhelming as usual, Matt.

After some debate, we decided to pay our tab concluding we were too old and slow to dine and dash with any success and as we are leaving, MILF grabbed Matt to reiterate it was her sister's birthday and to inform us she was the designated driver. Good luck with that lady. "So is that a mother you'd like to fuck? I asked Matt as we headed to the car. "Not for all the Goldschlagger in the world," he replied. "Besides I like my women curvaceous like a pint glass with a nice creamy head on top." "Matt honey," I replied, "you do realize you just described a penis, right?" "Am I still getting laid?" he retorted. "Of course," I said, "it's date night."

Uno---Dos---Tres

2011-05-10T12:09:00.000-05:00

Matt rarely offers up any sexual discussion. While it's true I'm completely awesome in bed I suspect the reason he tends to remain mum is in fear I'll use his fodder for a blog post. I know, I suck. So imagine my surprise when Matt shared a recent dream he had involving the 2 of us and Christina Aguilera. Do tell lover. Please. Do tell.

The first thing I wanted to know was if she belted out a tune or at the very least, sang the Star Spangled Banner correctly. Alas she did not but at the conclusion of the dream, Matt admitted he must have rubbed his Genie because something certainly came out of his bottle. From what I gather, Matt was more of an "observer" rather than a "participant" which meant I got it on with Christina. "You mean you didn't stick it in any of Christina's "holes"?" I asked. "Nah...I was more mesmerized by watching you guys which was surprising because Christina is kinda "big" now." Big now? Interesting, honey. Have you by chance taken a gander at the bodies we are currently rocking? And let's not lose sight that Christina agreed to a threesome with a ~~overweight~~ curvaceous married couple from Wheaton, IL. Seriously man, where are your manners? You were just given the gift of a wet dream.

I don't think Matt and I would be good candidates for a threesome for a variety of reasons. First of all, I am controlling and I don't see that boding well and second, I'm too old to be getting naked for anybody other than my husband. And of course there is the issue of what sex that third person would be---I am 100% sure Matt and his sphincter would not be open to another dude joining us despite my desire to be manhandled by a really cut boy toy. I suppose the "best" time to have tried a threesome out would have been in my 20s but my propensity towards being anal was just as strong back then. Geez....I am a fucking loser.

But let's just say for the sake of this blog post I'm entertaining the idea of a threesome with Christina Aguilera and besides having a substantial snack, (because as Matt stated, she is "bigger") and beverage on hand, what else to do I need to do to get ready for the big moment? According to Askmen.com making a threesome happen is relatively simple.

1---You need a least three sexual organs---2 vaginas, 1 penis; 1 vagina, 2 penises; or 1 vagina, 1 penis and 1 donkey cock---the combination is completely up to you, (okay this tip isn't in the article, but I thought it was important to remind everyone).

2---Keep an open mind. When a threesome is "suggested" it should be taken as a compliment not as "you suck ass in bed" or "I'm so fucking bored of your penis/vagina." Evidently it is a fantasy your partner wants to make a reality with you. Tell you what, make my fantasy of you cleaning the toilets for one month straight a reality and we'll talk.

3---Make it a fantasy first. "Your ability to talk about a threesome is a good indicator of the strength of your relationship (and communication is key when it comes to making threesomes happen)." If Matt were to seriously approach me about this I would tell him he was full of shit flat out. But wait, he kinda did broach the subject according to AskMen.com. "Pretend you’re going to have one and choose celebrities or random people from a crowd that appeal to you both. Now gauge your partner’s reaction." My reaction? Ease up on the alcohol son.

4---Discuss the details. Lord knows I'm all about the fine print and as the article suggests, figure out the "guy to girl" ratio ahead of time and whether dueling swords will be a welcomed addition to the mix. Another useful tool would be access to an instant replay type program where you could easily mark "x's" "o's" on your court of love.

5---Set some ground rules. "Setting up some threesome rules are a crucial part of pulling it off. Research shows that women can be awfully protective of their emotional bond with their boyfriend or husband. It’s important to realize that if she feels threatened by your “guest star,” your threesome is going to end pretty badly."

Well no shit rules are crucial but what I find amusing about this tip is everyone is under the assumption that (a) it is another woman being invited into the sandbox and (b) the boyfriend/husband might not feel a little bit threatened when his girlfriend/wife is getting eaten out by another chick. I think I might feel threatened if it were another dude and my husband decided to get his gay on---it might make me question a few things.

The article concludes with the all important "make her the star of the show." I am assuming the her is the girlfriend/wife and not the bitch brought home from a TGIF happy hour. Although in our case, I think Christina Aguilera would be the star of our show---even if she is on the "big" side.

Source: http://www.askmen.com/dating/love_tip_500/576b_threesomes-make-them-happen.html

I Heart You Google

2011-05-07T12:01:00.000-05:00

Can you imagine going to your local library 10 years ago in search for information regarding "huge dick into hemorrhoid asshole" via the card catalog or trying to cross reference the words "asshole" and "hemorrhoid" in the Encyclopedia Britannica? And while librarians are always eager to assist, I think disseminating this type of information would have lead to an instantaneous stroke. What causes me to pause is the realization that some people went without this knowledge; left to ponder if a huge dick should enter an asshole with a hemorrhoid. That's why Google, (as well as Bing and other search engines), deserve a national holiday.

Now before anyone jumps to the conclusion that the above search was done by yours truly, it was not. It was done by some chap in Kuala Lumpur and unfortunately he landed on this blog for reference. I feel bad about that---I mean a huge dick contemplating entrance into a hemorrhoidal, (is that even a word?), asshole really needs the advice from WebMD not a nearly 40 year old house wife in the burbs. This poor schmo, however, isn't the only one who has landed on my blog from a "specific" Google search. In the last 24 hours, I have had the following:

1---Does your vagina get shorter as you age? Source? London. I really wish Kate Middleton had left a comment.

2---Is there such [a] thing as too hard dick? Source? Carson, CA. Never sweetheart.

3---Allergic to stupid people. Source? Canada. I swear to god.

4---What is that bean looking thing in the vagina? Source? Bakersfield, CA. Please repeat after me: clitoris.

I don't know if I should be proud my various blog posts actually make the cut for certain Google searches or completely ashamed. Yeah, who am I kidding? Proud all the way. I would give anything, however, to hear the reader say "what in the fuck is this crap?" while scanning for an ounce of real information embedded in my blog. No matter how hard you look, the likelihood you'll find what you're looking for is next to none.

Search engines, however, are awesome especially if you are a deviant. Even Blogger provides it's own search engine service while I draft a post. For example, if I type in the word "vagina" a variety of snatches pop up to the right of my screen---it truly is a disturbing yet thoughtful gesture on the part of Blogger yet I find myself craving a rare roast beef sandwich.

Of course one of the more annoying aspects of search engines in the plethora of shit that pops up having nothing to do with your original intent. However it does lend itself to some funny commentary. Here are a few examples of what you will get if you type in these "key words":

1---Chuck Norris can....

(a) divide by zero, (and you thought martial art experts were dumb);
(b) touch MC Hammer, (the "where" is unclear);
(c) blow bubbles with beef jerky, (I was wondering when we would get a penis reference)

2---What does it mean...

(a) when your poop is green, (it means flush fast and exit the premises quickly)

3---Charles Darwin is....

(a) a homeboy, (just as I suspected);
(b) is Satan, (again, just as I suspected)

4---Man I'm....

(a) hungry like a muthaphuka lu-loke over there bullshittin on the grill, (and here I've been spelling mother fucker wrong)

5--Why does...

(a) poop float? (it is one of those great mysteries)

6---Can Jes....

(a) Can Jesus microwave a burrito? (well in this day in age, I certainly hope so).

7---Sarah is...

(a) awesome. (why thank you Google).

Source: http://www.holytaco.com/25-funny-google-search-suggestions/

Call to Order

2011-05-03T16:16:00.000-05:00

I recently was elected President of the PTO at Emma's school. Okay, I wasn't really elected---I ran unopposed so therefore I won. I was kinda hoping I would have an opponent so I could present my platform which included a line of t-shirts sponsored by my blog; happy hour events twice a month; and of course the opportunity to challenge my opponent to a drink off. Alas, none of the above was needed.

When I told my friends of my newly appointed post, the first reaction was "why exactly are you doing this?" followed by, "well you certainly will entertain the masses." It's true, being a member of a volunteer organization takes a special person---special as in "crazy" who doesn't mind putting in a lot of thankless hours for no pay, (a point Matt reminds me of constantly). Yet here I am, ready to dig in, (whether I'm digging my own grave has yet to be determined). Never the less, I am excited to see what changes the new Board and I can make with the support from fellow parents and staff, (and my first executive decision is drinks at the conclusion of every PTO meeting [gavel striking the table]. Wait, I don't even have a fracking gavel).

Before I get ahead of myself, you might be wondering what in the hell the difference is between a PTA and PTO---glad you asked.

"The National PTA is a formal membership organization headquartered in Chicago with a 105-year history of working for children. Local groups that choose to belong to the PTA must pay dues to the state and national organizations and abide by state and national group rules. In return, they get member benefits, and they get a voice in the operations of the larger organization. The National PTA maintains a Washington, D.C., lobbying office, and most state PTAs advocate at their respective state capitals, as well. The PTA carefully protects its name, so that in theory only dues-paying members of the group can call themselves a PTA."

Whereas a PTO "represents the thousands of groups that choose to remain independent of the PTA. These are most often single-school groups that operate under their own bylaws and by and large concern themselves with the goings-on at their building or in their town only." That's right bitches, we are rogue.

The reason Emma's school has a PTO is because multiple school districts feed into it so the creation of a PTO made more sense, (plus we don't have to pay a dime to anyone). What's interesting is there are differing opinions about the legitimacy of a PTO versus a PTA with some suggesting that "independent groups that aren't part of the PTA are in some way choosing to abandon the cause of children." Oh please, what a bunch of bullshit.

It's easy to get caught up in all the politics and personalities when getting involved in either a PTO or PTA (lord have mercy I'm itching for a drink just thinking about it). And unfortunately the situation isn't any different when the kids have special needs. There have been times I have wanted to get out a set of visual cards with the words "quiet", "stop talking" and "time out" during a few meetings. And even though we sometime take the longer route to get from point A to point B, the goal is always the same: provide stellar programming and events for our kids.

I had an opportunity to attend a PTO Expo today which featured a key note speaker addressing the "challenges" of running a PTO. There were also more vendors than I could count trying to sell everything from scented candles to tubs of cookie dough. As you can imagine, I had a few thoughts....

First of all, it is no wonder we have an obesity problem in America. Honest to god, the majority of PTO "fundraisers" center around food---tubs of cookie dough, pizza, popcorn and candy bars. But there was one lone vendor trying to convince this estrogen filled room that people would gladly purchase a crate of oranges versus a tub of cookie dough to support their school. Really? You must be high from all the scented candles surrounding you buddy, but kudos for trying.

As you probably can surmise, people tend to get a little nutty when there are freebies---food or otherwise. I witnessed one woman balancing 2 fucking paper plates filled with everything from crackers adorned with cheese spread, pizza, cookies and handful of trail mix. She then managed to snag 2 jerky sticks from a vendor. Oh I did I forget to mention the fucking jerky sticks that you could personalize with your school name on the wrapper?

The keynote speaker was informative and I'll admit I was surprised to see it was a dude. In fact, there were 2 guys in the audience which begged the question "why" from me. I know, I know, unfair and completely sexist, but if I had a penis, the very last place I'd want to be would be is in a convention hall chowing down on pizza samples made in a toaster oven. The worst part was when the keynote speaker asked how many different "offices/committees" people had sat on---the one with the most would get a free t-shirt. Fantastic---right back to high school.

Perhaps the most entertaining part for me, (besides watching the woman juggle the 2 plates of food and beef jerky sticks), were the "clusters" of women who came together. First of all there were mullets---it's inevitable, I suppose. The display of sweat jackets was also prevalent as were a sprinkling of sweat pants. For the love of christ why do 40 something women just give up? You are representing your child's school so at the very least go buy a pair of mom jeans. Then there were the die hards---women wearing matching t-shirts that read "I Love PTO". Imagine the looks I got when I took off my coat to reveal my t-shirt that read:

I love cock and beer

(and not necessarily in that order)

You don't think that's grounds for impeachment, do you?

A Royal Pain in My Ass

2011-04-29T11:25:00.000-05:00

Of all the coverage and commentary of today's Royal Wedding, this was my favorite statement made by one of FB buddies:

Dear Prince William and Kate-
Congratulations on your wedding. Today was my wedding date, too. I hope that your marriage lasts longer than mine did.
Love, Princess Peppermint

As you can surmise, I did not get all a flutter with the pending nuptials between William and Kate. That didn't stop me from casually glancing at the TV this morning to see highlights of Kate's dress, (which really was stunning); Williams apparent thinning hair, (don't get me wrong, he's still a looker); the sour puss expression on the Queen Mum's face, (which she has perfected over the years); and of course the 2 kisses on the balcony as on lookers cheered for their future King and Queen of England. And while watching this all unfold, I couldn't help but wonder if Prince Harry is kinda pissed because really, the 2nd born son doesn't count for crap in the scheme of things.

There is something surreal to see a deck of cards come to life but even I have to admit it's amazing to think a monarchy is still embraced and cherished in the year 2011, (I mean the up keep of the palace and horse drawn carriages has got to be daunting). The advantages Kate has over Princess Diana, however, are numerous. First of all, I think William actually likes his bride whereas Charles wasn't exactly the model spouse. Second, Kate has undoubtedly tested the "goods" while poor Diana was left at the mercy of Charles and his royal wank. And third, and perhaps most important, Kate refused to utter the words "and obey" during the vow exchange---that's right William, you may have to do some obeying and kneeling of your own.

What I find interesting is all the "fuss" made about Kate being a "commoner". For fuck sakes, she didn't grow up wearing rags and selling match sticks. For being a commoner, her family did pretty damn well. And honestly, what is so fucking great about the Royal clan? From what I gather, there's some evidence of inbreeding. Have you never watched the Tudors?

As you might expect, I found myself reflecting upon my own wedding day and I'm here to tell you there wasn't anything regal about it. I'm not saying it wasn't a great day, I'm just saying we opted for more of a party, "go ahead and get high in the bridal suite" type vibe rather than sophistication. I mean you know you've thrown a really good party when you're told the next day one guest threw up so much she popped blood vessels in her eyes. As I host, I consider that a major success.

I get why people like weddings; especially those that are beyond grand. But at the end of the day, whether a prince or princess or commoner, everyone has to take a shit, (granted their toilets are probably 24 karat but you get my point). As for my friend who was also married on this same day, she left us with this final thought:

Tempted to text ex Happy Anniversary you POS! Bahahaha!

I would gladly RSVP to that event.

I Said Smile Damn It

2011-04-25T14:22:00.000-05:00

Are you a happy person? Wait...let's try this again---are you a relatively happy person? Contrary to what I spew I think I am a relatively happy person. Granted I'm a lot happier when drinking....a Venti unsweetened iced tea, (and I will be down right giddy when the "Trenta" is available in May). What amuses me about "happiness" is how a person chooses to spread the wealth around---you know the type---inspirational messages coming out of the ying yang not necessarily written by them but plagiarized. That's when I become unhappy with an incredible urge to shove that dose of sunshine up that person's ass. At the very least, come up with your own fucking wisdom in regards to happiness.

Here's my theory on "happy people"---they exist, but if the happiness turns preachy or challenges me to think too deeply I immediately conclude that person is full of crap. I acknowledge the harshness of this but I would rather spend my time with the truly cynical who are completely honest than a person who's life mission is to find the "good" in every situation---crappy or otherwise. Sorry, you aren't fooling me and you're annoying the shit out everyone else in the process.

To achieve happiness, I think one needs to be realistic and prepared for moments of darkness along the way. That's why I appreciate the days where I'm actually happy because I know how shitty some days can be. Sure, I try to remind myself "this too shall pass," but I'm not going to lie---an iced cold beer tends to ease the pain better than a fountain of inspiration thoughts.

This isn't the first time I've penned a post about "happiness" or most specifically the mantra "fake it until you make it." I will say there is some credence in the "fake it" philosophy and I was pleased to see it applied somewhere else other than the bedroom, (just kidding). But what if there were "specific" things I could do to ensure more days of happiness and fulfillment. Would I give them a try or snub my nose at the suggestions and chose to write a cynical response instead? I'll let you be the judge.

1---Look for the Positive. “Happy people are more likely than unhappy people to perceive themselves, as well as the world around them, positively." I'm trying my hardest to suppress a "duh" and "no shit" kinda response. While I admire the approach, I just can't find anything wrong with looking at one's situation and saying aloud, "dear god this really fucking sucks."

2---Nurture Relationships. "Not only do friendships and family relationships make you happier, the data also suggests that strong, supportive relationships help you live longer." Yeah, I get this one---finding supportive people really is the key unless you despise the human race as a whole then this tip isn't going to do you any good.

3---Be Physically Active. "Exercise is a proven method for preventing or managing negative emotions." As much as I want to disagree with this one, I can't. I'll bitch and moan through the entire physical activity but when I'm done, I do feel better---that's is until I strip off my clothes and still find myself a complete fat ass.

4---Express Gratitude. "Expressing sincere gratitude for someone makes you happier." And what is the key word here? That's right---sincere. And trust me, I can smell an insincere person a mile away....

5---Offer to Help Others. "Happy people are often among the first to lend a hand. And while they probably aren’t stepping up purely because it makes them feel good, the reality is that being helpful does allow you to feel better about yourself, which helps you be happier." Oh that doesn't sound the least bit self-serving, does it?

6---Forgive. "People who can forgive generally have higher self-esteem and more joy and happiness in their lives. While forgiving someone in person may not be possible or advisable, you can still practice forgiveness by writing a letter (even if you don’t send it) or imagining what it would be like to forgive them in person." If I am going to take time out of my busy schedule and "imagine" forgiving someone, I am going to give them a much deserved beat down first.

7---Savor Pleasures in Life. "Savoring the big and little joys in your daily life increases self-esteem and may even protect against negative emotions, creating a buffer against stress." Unfortunately the joys I experience in my daily life last approximately 2-5 minutes which I immediately want to follow up with a nap.

8---Make Spiritual Practice a Habit. "Religious or spiritual practice can help you get through hard times, give meaning to the good and bad days of life, and help you see the way to happiness more clearly." There are days I wish I had "faith"---no seriously, I do but the pragmatist in me just can't entertain the thought, (although if "God" can find the time to post inspirational messages on FB, then perhaps I could chisel out some time to re-evaluate the idea of practicing spiritually). I do think, however, I would make a bitchin witch....

Admittedly I will never be the poster child for "happiness" and truthfully I don't want to be. And while some of you may shake your head and think I am way damaged, I know one person I made happy with this cynical and perhaps pessimistic view of happiness. And you know what? That pleases me more than you can possibly imagine.

Source: http://www.everydayhealth.com/emotional-health-pictures/be-spiritual-to-be-happier.aspx

Push It Real Good

2011-04-23T18:05:00.000-05:00

Acknowledging a job is well done is appreciated by most---I mean who's going to turn down gratitude when it's totally deserved. Sure, modesty should play a small part, but in the end, kudos are always welcome. Personally I like when I am worshiped and given large amounts of cash to recognize my awesomeness but that's just me. For others, defining the kind of kudos to bestow upon another can get tricky. For example, a verbal "way to go" can carry enough weight for certain occasions, (as in making a hole in one), and can fail miserably at others, (like giving birth to a baby). It is a given child birth is hard whether you push said child out of your vag or have it cut out of your uterus. And while the support of your baby's daddy is much appreciated, operation get baby out falls completely on mama.

What new mothers don't consider is how much life isn't about "them" anymore but all about the baby. I know, it's hard to imagine such a thing after being an incubator for 9 months and being treated to nausea, exhaustion, hemorrhoids, swollen feet and heartburn. Sure, we mothers are asked how we are while our baby's are swept out of our arms and given all the attention. I think that's when mothers decided to unite and demand a "little somethin somethin" for the apparent effort, (not to mention sacrifice) given all in the name of creating a "new life." The movement, you ask? Push Presents.

Gone are the days of flowers and high fives to those who birthed their first child and in there place are offerings of high end jewelry, (is there any other kind?), to present to the woman who bared down and pushed a child out, (and perhaps took a crap in the process). Of course jewelers have readily accepted the idea of Push Presents and have gone to great lengths to provide a variety of tokens, (diamonds being the most popular), for a husband to present to his wife.

When I asked my FB posse if they had been the recipient of a "Push Present" or if the husbands had presented their lovely wives with one, I found I keep company with some very lavish folks---although the majority received their Push Present after their 2nd child. Aside from jewelry, one friend told me about "someone she knows" who received a fur coat---sure, "someone she knows." Of course there were some women who didn't receive shit---just the bundle they gave birth too which some may think is completely lame. Sure, the miracle behind conceiving a child is incredible, but please, it would have been even more incredible with some "karats" attached.

I was presented with a Push Present after Emma was born but it wasn't from my baby's daddy---it was from one of his friends. During my 2nd day at the hospital, Matt's friend Tim stopped by to visit and as Matt handed Emma off to Tim to hold, Tim handed Matt a bag. After telling us how beautiful she was, blah, blah, blah, Tim motioned to the bag and said, "that's for you, Mama." The grease stain that had formed on the bag let me know instantly what it was....

I craved exactly 2 things while pregnant with Emma: hot dogs and Italian beefs, (that's what she said), and it was quite common to find Matt, Tim, his girlfriend and I enjoying a meal of the above mentioned. It was the Italian beefs, however, I couldn't stop eating---and while the hot giardiniera played holy hell with my stomach, I just couldn't say no to a double helping. So bless Tim's heart when he delivered the one thing he thought I would embrace---a double dipped, double hot giardiniera, Italian beef....

After Tim left, I told Matt the last thing my colon wanted was this sandwich. Not one to let food, (especially food derived from a cow), go to waste, Matt hunkered down and ate my "Push Present" while Emma and I cheered him on.

Seeing it was my last night in the hospital, I told Matt he should go home and get some sleep in our bed. After kissing his girls good-bye, I told him to give me a call when he got home. I must have dozed because I woke up an hour and half later realizing Matt hadn't called. With hormones raging out of control I immediately concluded Matt was dead and I was going to be a single mom. Then I got a hold of myself and said he probably stopped off at the bar. So I promptly called his pager. Yes, his pager. This was 1999 and cell phones were just becoming the norm but my man rocked a pager. As you can surmise, I paged 911....

A few minutes later my phone rang and it sounded like Matt was talking in a tunnel. Turns out he hadn't made it out of the hospital yet. Why you ask? Well my "Push Present" had given him major colon blow and every time he thought he could make it to the car, his ass had other plans.

Upon the birth of our second child, I did receive a legitimate "Push Present" in the form of a Sapphire pendant surround by a series of diamonds---a necklace I wear every day. Granted it doesn't taste as good as a double dipped, double hot giardiniera Italian beef, but it's a whole lot better for Matt's colon.

Source: http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-are-push-presents-really-necessary/

Abstinence Makes the Boner Grow Harder

2011-04-20T13:00:00.000-05:00

I don't envy my friends who have tweens/teens in the slightest. There is nothing endearing about a tween---even one on the spectrum. Hormones are out of control, angst is at an all time high and alcohol consumption amongst parents teeters on the irresponsible. Now while I am treated to my fair dose of breast development, pubic hair and mood swings, at least I don't have to navigate all the "let's take a picture of my twot and text it because everyone is doing it" crap. Trust me, texting one's twot is really foul. Long gone are the days of "insert penis into vagina" talks---parents have to deal with oral sex, (and oral STDs), anal sex, (you put your penis where?) and the dreaded, "but he said he pulled out...." (trust me kids, that one doesn't work at all).

As one would suspect, parents of teens are haunted by their own sexual escapades and all too aware how the innocence of a dry hump can spiral out of control. Something tells me dry humping is not embraced enthusiastically by today's youth which is a shame because all that spunk and sperm is kept neatly in said boy's underwear. While it's true the aftermath of a dry humping session can be ugly, (as in one's vagina bursting into dry, hot flames), there normally is a happy ending enjoyed by both parties without the fear of spreading herpes or pregnancy. I guess the question parents seriously need to ask themselves is if abstinence is realistic. I am going to go out on a limb and say no. While it's a worthy fairy tale with some kids embracing the idea with their parents support, (and threat of death hanging over their heads), the fast majority of teens are going to experiment sexually one way or another. This realization isn't going to stop some parents from trying to instill abstinence, however. And what better way to remind your daughter to keep her fucking legs closed than with abstinence panties.

The creators of abstinence panties had one goal in mind: "to create a way to start a conversation about sex." Anyone find this way unnerving or is it just me? With the phrases "Zip it"; "Not Tonight"; and "Dream On", the meaning behind these sexy hot boy shorts is clear, "no dick near my clit."

Curious to see these conversational panties myself, I checked out the link www.wwymd.com, (which stands for What Would Your Mother Do?), and came to the following conclusions. (1) My mother would have written the phrase, "do not fuck that boy" with a Sharpie on a piece of masking tape and affixed in on my underwear before shelling out $13 a pair of abstinence panties. (2) The target audience for this underwear is all wrong---

I'm not saying a teen wouldn't heed the "Not Tonight" suggestion but I know married women all across this nation would gladly wear a pair to send the all important message "no winkie in the pinkie tonight." I personally like the "Dream On" pair---in addition to wearing these on nights I want nothing to do with sex, I would have "Dream On" by Aerosmith playing softly in the background. So if I may, I would like to suggest to the creators at What Would Your Mother Do? the following: target these awesome panties to married women. I would also suggest offering these for brides-to-be because the honeymoon will come to an end and the urge to shut down sexual overtures a given. As for all those horny teens, I suppose to say "this too shall pass" isn't the best advice to give, but to hope some underwear will inspire abstinence is fucking crazy.

Source: http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-abstinence-panties-will-be-very-effective-at-stopping-horny-teenagers/

My Moments are Beyond Precious

2011-04-18T13:37:00.000-05:00

As I was rummaging through an old box in search of "something", I came across a Precious Moments figurine given too me to commemorate my high school graduation. Adorned with a graduation cap, this little porcelain doll stared up at me with eyes seeming to say, "You ungrateful bitch, how dare you keep me packed away all these years." Yeah, well guess what little creepy cherub face, you are going right back into that box.

As I searched my memory trying to recollect who had given me said Precious Moment I found myself not only unable to come up with a "who" but I equally struggled with the "why" as in why in the hell I still had it. Now before you all think I'm going to start hating on Precious Moment figurines I'm not---perhaps make fun a little bit, but I'm certainly not going to judge if you happen to be collector. Granted I want to ask "why" because personally I think it's kinda spooky to commemorate "moments" with figurines that look like toddlers but look, I understand what it means to get caught up in a "collection". Department 56 the Halloween collection has my number as well as Christopher Radko and those fucking snow globes. I mean for fuck sakes, how many Santa's do I really need trapped inside a dome to make my Norman Rockwell Christmas complete?

Precious Moments averages over $200 million dollars a year in sales---that's a lot of fucking moments. And I suppose for the novice collector, these "adorable" toddlers can be passed down from generation to generation as a family heirloom or in economic hard times, auctioned off to the highest bidder on eBay. As a matter of fact, one collector is asking for $18,000 for her collection of 700 figurines. Here's the tricky part about both of those scenarios---what if you never lost just one baby tooth or god forbid, graduated from any sort of school? If you inherit one of these or buy in bulk, does this make you a liar? Or do you arrange the statues by actual "moments you had" versus "moments you wished you had."

I asked my posse on FB if anyone collects these darling fuckers and no one would fess up, (although one of my pals said she collects husbands---nicely done and definitely worth noting). No question these figurines are targeting chicks, accept this chick. No boy should be the recipient of one ever. I'm sorry if this pronouncement offends anyone but seriously it is a porcelain figurine. Now I know they make one's that feature a little boy donning baseball caps and football helmets which I agree, are "boy moments." Just don't display it in his room---it is going to make him question his masculinity beginning at age 4 and will continue to haunt him until 60. If you must make the purchase, carve out a nice little area of appreciation just for yourself.

So exactly what kind of "moments" are these crazy cats commemorating better than a digital photo? You name the occasion and there is a Precious waiting to collect dust. Aside from communions, baptisms and major holidays, I was intrigued by the category "sympathy" found on the Precious Moments "official" web site. I was relieved to see that there wasn't a girl/boy toddler holding a tombstone with the words RIP etched in the stone. Yet there was a picture of a boy curled up on cloud which read, "Embraced in God's Warm Love." I know some people may find comfort in this---I am not one of these people, (now if it were an 80 year old man depicted in porcelain, then perhaps).

I honestly think the makers of Precious Moments are ignoring a huge demographic---the sick, twisted and forever damaged. At the very least, there should be a statue of an intoxicated Precious Moments toddler that reads, I'm 21 Today Bitches" or one doing a keg stand reading "Look Mom, No Hands." And how about losing one's virginity? The little guy could be holding a cherry pie in one hand with the caption, "I Totally Scored a Piece." Or how about coming out of the closet? Two girl toddlers could be walking hand and hand with the message, "Pussy over Cock 4-Ever."

I'll admit it, I don't get the fascination with these but hell, most of my moments are cloudy at best or not worth remembering, (sorta like this blog post). But you have to respect the die hards who eagerly anticipate the unveiling of new figurines and bask in delight when certain one's "retire." And in an era where our world is ravaged in war, poverty, disease and sarcasm, it's comforting to know our "moments" are preserved---because remembering that 1st birthday is a hard one....

Hand in my Pocket(s)

2011-04-17T16:36:00.000-05:00

When alone, (and buzzed), I find myself thinking about the strangest crap. For example, why do I find myself always putting both my hands into my back pockets? I mean what's wrong with my front pockets? Am I afraid I will try to rub my magic bean in public? Or do I just prefer feeling the ample ass I have developed from running? Or why have I developed such a prejudice against using a black ballpoint pen? I certainly don't think black ink is inferior to blue ink, yet I will search high and low for my medium point Bic blue pen before even considering writing out my "to do list" with a black pen. And forget about using a pencil---I can't tell you the last time I used one of those. Does any grown adult reach for a pencil anymore? I didn't think so.

When I was thinking about writing a blog post last night, (under the haze of a few beers), I thought it would be "funny" to write about items a person can't live with out, (black ballpoint ink pen would not have made my list, obviously). So I decided to ask for some ideas on FB---yeah that tanked. In my posse's defense, it was Saturday and people have lives and my question did teeter on the boring side. I also didn't make myself very clear---fucking beer---because most answers were pretty typical: a car, iPhone and chocolate. Okay not the most creative bunch of individuals but like I said, completely my fault. Then there was the answer of "Cherry Chapstick" which was more what I was looking for but with that came the challenge of writing a couple paragraphs about a stick of wax and finding something humorous about it, (besides kissing a girl and kinda liking it....).

Alright so my "idea" did not come to fruition and I thought about scraping the entire post but I still found it funny this morning when I read my reference about my hands in my back pockets versus the front---and how it had absolutely nothing to do with the overall theme of "products." At the very least, I could have said I keep a stick of Cherry Chapstick back there or a bottle of water---that's right, I can not live without bottled water. I like bottled water because I know exactly how much I am drinking with little regard to "wastefulness" of the plastic bottle, (I do recycle). Yes, I do realize I could drink it straight from the tap but it isn't the same. And yes, I realize I could fill up my own water bottle---a goal Matt would like me work on during the next few months but I am a fan of Kirkland bottled water---don't hate me; just appreciate I'm hydrated.

Is anyone getting the vibe this post is a little "Seinfeld-like?" Of course that would imply it was funny which is beyond a stretch, but it is certainly about nothing. Well damn it, I need to redeem this a little by either inserting some cock talk or information that could be deemed useful. Well besides Chapstick sorta looking like a cock, is there another application for it, (besides on one's lips?). Well lick my dry pouty lips, there sure as hell is....

Did you know Chapstick can be used to stop nicks from bleeding? That's right folks---if you are sloppy with your razor, don't grab a scrap of TP to stop the bleeding; rub your little tube of wax over the area you nicked. And don't stop there---if you suffer from paper cuts, Chapstick will ease that bleeder too. Holy mother of god---I learned something new today!

There is something a little "Mad Scientist" when people start using products for things not originally intended for. I admire that and just wish I had that sort of vision, (because my alternative use for Vaseline tanked big). Here are some off the wall applications for you to consider, especially if you are in crisis mode:

1---Bar Soap: Out of detergent? Just get out your cheese grater and grate yourself some detergent. Of course in addition to the bar soap, you will also need borax and washing soda, (what the fuck is that?). Here's a thought---get in your fucking car and just go to the store.

2---Peanut Butter. Got gum stuck in your hair? Well that fucking sucks and if someone put it there, they deserve a beat down. Evidently the oil content in peanut butter will get gum out and leave your hair smelling like Jiff for weeks. But as noted by the "tipster" it only works if the gum is "fresh"---if you have left in there for a few days you are shit out of luck.

3---Shaving Cream. Got stains on your carpet, (from all that spunk your dude is depositing?) Shaving cream can get the stains out. Just rub it in, let dry and vacuum it out. No more brown sperm stains. Awesome! Next time, put a fucking towel down you perverts.

Source: http://shopping.aol.com/articles/2011/01/11/common-household-products-with-uncommon-uses/

I Got Your Stupid

2011-04-15T15:15:00.000-05:00

Playing it "smart" has no real advantages when pitted up against the truly stupid. For those with smarts, application is the way to play---study hard in school, work your way up some sort of ladder and if you're lucky, all the time to devoted to your craft will pay off in huge dividends. Of course if you are mediocre like I am, the dividends are slow to come but at least the beer is cold. It's the truly stupid, however, that not only make an impression, but manage to make money. Although I am starting to doubt this line of reasoning already because this blog hasn't made one fucking dime....

For those of you that chisel out 2 minutes of your day to read my latest post on the shitter, you are well acquainted with my ongoing themes of sex, (as in the actual act of fucking), cum shots, everything vagina, my infinity towards bread and my obsession with "products" that make me go hmmmm, (different from orgasmic hummmmm). Well I have 2 more for you---incredibly dumb yet here I am promoting them which really doesn't matter because I only know 2, (okay 3), people who might actually order these.

What the Fuck Are You Wearing?

I know it shouldn't matter what kind of underwear a guy chooses to wear, (it's what's housed inside that counts), but I am kinda picky and like a dude who rocks boxers. I don't have anything against "tighty whities" but they remind me of my dad which sounds like a really twisted statement but on the rare occasion I would see him without actual pants on as a kid, that's what he was wearing. For me, the boxer-brief is a nice compromise, but if you want me all creamed up, you best be wearing boxers. And if you want it all dry, then go ahead and rock a pair of these:

Known as "boxer jeans" these faux bad boys give the "illusion" that you are either (a) a girl with a bulge, (I mean look at that model---that can't be a guy, right?) or (b) a silver-toned mannequin packing a mean bulge. These "denim cut-offs" scream only one thing too me---boys town and I am quite sure not even the queen of boys town would be caught dead in these.

Again I ask....What in the Fuck Are You Wearing?

Hello, my name is Sarah, and I am always dropping food down my cleavage, (hello, Sarah). One of my more "memorable" moments was watching a clump of ranch dressing fall off the end of a carrot into my "v of love." There is just no way to wipe that away without attracting attention or looking like a vessel for some very thick man gravy. Now if I only had one of these, the problem would have been avoided:

You may be thinking Sarah, that looks like a bib for big people. Why yes it is. Called the "Slobstopper" it stops us slobs from making a big old mess on our clothes. As pointed out in their ad, this bib isn't just an ordinary "terry cloth bib." Well I hope the fuck not. It is a bib constructed out of "two layers of polyurethane laminate with a waterproof layer." In addition to all that awesomeness it comes in a plethora of colors---you know, so you can match your outfits with it. And for the bargain price of $14.95, why not have a whole fucking rainbow of bibs. You know who could benefit from this product? The overzealous masturbater who hates having a Kleenex catch his spunk. Now fellas you can just come all over yourself and wipe it away in seconds without the fear of stains. Now that's what I call a practical product!

Source: http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-boxer-jeans-are-the-new-wtf-underwear-for-men/

Is There Such a Thing as Too Much Dick?

2011-04-14T13:25:00.000-05:00

After coming up with this way creative title, I realized it could be construed in two different ways. (1) Too much dick as in size/length/girth and (2) as in too much attention paid to it/readily available. Well let's address issue #1 first---I would have to say yes but only in regards too me. I have come to the conclusion I have a dainty vagina and it just couldn't accommodate a Chris Brown size penis. It is rare to hear me admit I couldn't handle something but here I am admitting---a long schlong scares me. Now girth is a whole other issue---I say bring it and bring it hard because while dainty, my vagina won't accept anything less than being entirely filled up from side to side. Now to address issue #2---and the meaning I was initially after....

Despite owning a variety of make shift dicks that vibrate, I still prefer the "real" thing---an opinion echoed by all my deviant girlfriends. Sure, a vibrator can do things a normal penis can not do, but at the end of a very long and stressful day, I would rather have the "real thing", (my apologies to the marketing wizards at Coke for borrowing their tag line---the check is so not in the mail). The problem with worshiping "the cock" is men tend to forget their place. Sure, you have this amazing appendage that you can make move with your mind, but never forget that behind every engorged cock, there is great woman, (unless you are gay then feel free to dismiss this entire argument). So despite admitting the awesomeness of the penis, trouble is sure to start when the cock gets cocky. And I think Iceland is headed into some troubled waters.

While the penis can satisfy, it ain't that great too look at, (nor is the vagina so calm down gents). So why someone would pay money to see a bunch of penises preserved in formaldehyde is puzzling too me. Sure, some might be interested to see the difference between a sperm whale's dick versus a measly bear's dick. Or has this unfulfilled need to see a Beaver's schlong. But I have to be honest and say seeing an old dude's dick on display doesn't even remotely make my bucket list.

Pall Arason, a native Icelander, pledged his penis to the Phallological Museum years ago and when he finally died at the ripe old age of 95, his "pickled penis" will now be the museum's "main attraction." Where in the hell do I begin. First of all, Iceland must be as boring as I have always thought if seeing a 95-year old's dick is considered a "main attraction." Second, even if the guy was hung, (which I doubt), it ain't gonna look that good in a jar floating in juice---an old dick is just going to look like an old ass dick. Lastly, a dick shouldn't be separated from it's balls---this of course is just my opinion, but a cock and its balls come in a set. I mean you wouldn't break up the partnership that a salt and pepper shaker have, would you?

Sigurdur Hjartarson, currator of the "Phallological Museum", (yes, that's its name), is remaining mum as to how long Pall Arason's pickled pecker is---a mistake if you ask me. I would like to think Mr. Hjartarson would have had some "standards" when first approached about displaying a human wang. I'm not suggesting it should be a "Ripley's Believe It or Not" kinda cock, but come one, if you are going to bill it as a main attraction, it better be longer than the average 5 inches or people are going to demand their money back, (I know this little lady ~~wood~~ would).

I can't decide what kind of dude it takes to contemplate donating his dick to a museum. I would think the mere thought of removing said appendage, even while dead, would freak the shit out of most guys. Then again, men seem to have a natural inclination to want to share their "wealth", (whether asked to or not). My first inclination would be to label such a guy a narcissistic douche bag but hey, some may argue I'm a narcissistic beatch with a sizable rack---fair enough. One thing is for certain though...I prefer a penis attached to a body, rocking some nicely sized balls and floating in liquid I provide. I'd pay a buck to see that kind of exhibit.

Source: http://www.pantagraph.com/news/weird-news/article_9f9d06b0-65dd-11e0-a324-001cc4c002e0.html

A Discourse in Intercourse

2011-04-13T12:33:00.000-05:00

Evidently this week is "Sex Week." Yeah I missed the memo on that one too, (thank god for FB). My first reaction when I heard this was "why?" followed up with "like I don't have enough going on in my life right now." Well it's not as doomsday as one might think. Colleges started declaring "Sex Week" back in 2007 to encourage open dialog about sex and everything related to sex, (not just your run of the mill unwanted pregnancies and STDs). Does anyone find this kinda surprising? I would think the demographic not needing any sexual encouragement are those enrolled in college. If anyone could benefit from some sexual inspiration it would be us 40-somethings, (and yes I am lumping you 38/39 year old fuckers into this group so deal with it). I still need to remind myself that I can put off sleep for another 20 minutes to have sex but it is a hotly contested debate beginning while brushing my teeth, continuing while I take my "before bed" pee and concluding while changing into something resembling pajamas. Honestly I think I should receive an "A" for my overall effort.

Last night I decided sleep could wait so the "deed" was commenced. Not to get too personal, (rolling my eyes), I guess I felt it necessary to tell Matt my climax was forthcoming with the ever romantic, "I'm going to cum." Why do we do that? Honest to god I sounded like Pauly D. from Jersey Shore yelling "cabs are here." But it was Matt's answer that startled me---he emphatically said "NO!" Oops...too late.

While the notion of "cuming" together is awesome let's be honest---it is a phenomenon. A nice phenomenon and worthy goal, but a phenomenon none the less. As I have explained to Matt, (and other dudes before him), take my "finish" before your finish as a victory---you worked it and rubbed it to a much appreciated climax---two snaps and a fucking circle. And considering only 17% of women actually reach climax during sex, take my "coming" before you as a gift. The end.

I refuse to believe only 17% of women reach a climax while having sex. Perhaps during the horse and buggy era, but in 2011, women should know how to achieve a climax with or without an "aide." But then again I don't really subscribe to statistics especially ones relating to sex. Unfortunately, sex generates a lot of stats so in honor of "Sex Week" let me share a handful, (and feel free to drop me a line if you happen to fall into one these categories).

1---56% of Men Have Screwed at Work. Question? Does that mean 56% of women have also screwed at work or is this strictly dude on dude action?

2---Chicks Talk Dirtier in Bed than Dudes. Well I'm certainly not shy about announcing that my train is coming into the station. I actually believe this one, (even though a specific percentage wasn't assigned). I will gladly talk dirty to a dude but don't want it reciprocated---you just sound stupid.

3---Impotence is grounds for divorce in 26 states. Yikes talk about harsh, (but completely understandable). Kidding....not.

4---On average, men will shoot their load in 2.5 minutes while a lady will shoot hers in 12. See why coming together isn't nearly as important as a woman seeing stars first? Don't worry lads, she's gonna let you finish.

5---Men who actively fuck will live past 80. Again, nothing said about the ladies but if given the guarantee I will look 30ish in my 80s I will gladly fuck anyone anytime.

6---Female orgasms can cure headaches. Note to self---headache excuse is no longer a viable one.

7---30 minutes of sex can burn 200 calories. Raise your hand if you actually have 30 minutes of sex? Didn't think so.

8---30% of women over 80 are still banging their spouses/boyfriends. Of course they are....it's called dementia.

Source: http://blog.koldcast.tv/2011/infographics/15-seemingly-unimportant-yet-vital-facts-about-sex/

Dream Weaver You Are SO Fired

2011-04-11T13:45:00.000-05:00

Sally Albright: Well, basically it's the same dream I've been having since I was twelve.
Harry Burns: Which is?
Sally Albright: Okay, there's this guy...
Harry Burns: What does he look like?
Sally Albright: I don't know, he's just sort of faceless.
Harry Burns: Faceless guy, okay.
Sally Albright: He RIPS off my clothes.
[pause]
Harry Burns: And?
Sally Albright: That's it.
Harry Burns: That's it? Some faceless guy rips off all your clothes, and THAT'S the sex fantasy you've been having since you were twelve?
Sally Albright: Well sometimes I vary it a little.
Harry Burns: Which part?
Sally Albright: What I'm wearing.

The older I get, I find myself relating more and more to Sally which in the scheme of things probably isn't a "good" thing. Yesterday I participated in the 32nd annual Shamrock 8K Shuffle which hosted a field of 40,000 runners---40,000 people is a lot of fracking people. Turns out only 32,427 actually ran but still it was a sizable crowd. And not to disappoint, my subconscious had a little fun with me the night before and weaved dreams about arriving late, finishing last, being told I didn't belong in my assigned corral because I looked too slow, and my personal favorite, eating a loaf of French bread---totally true. Well thank god none of the above came to fruition and I managed to finish the race in 48 minutes despite dodging a dead rat on the course and being treated to some one's colon blow in the porta john prior to the race.

Dreams are funny---completely irrational yet can fuck up your day big time if the essence of a bad one remains. You may be wondering what I dream, (or maybe not but humor me). Despite wanting hot sexy dreams, those are few and far between. I suppose my subconscious doesn't feel it's necessary seeing I'm pretty satisfied with my sex life although I am not opposed to some well "defined" gentleman entering my dream state for an occasional visit. What I tend to dream about is having super powers---strength is usually the dominant theme but flying and "magic" makes an appearance from time to time. When I'm having one these kinds of dreams, I'm usually confronted by a person or situation needing to be dealt with and upon exercising my "powers" I come to find they aren't working. Typical. Even in my dreams I fuck up....

People have been trying to define the meaning behind dreams for centuries. I don't know "who" these people are but evidently they exist. And in this quest for higher understanding, they have come to find 5 common "themes" most people share---after perusing this list I concluded I didn't want to share these themes with anyone nor did I experience any of these first hand, (well not really). If you do, I'm sorry but rest assured you aren't a total dirty dude/whore---these dreams are completely natural, (natural for a serial killer, perhaps).

Dream #1: "Incestuous Hook-Ups." Have you ever dreamed about banging your sister or brother lately? Well besides being gross, you better hope to fucking god there is a meaning behind it, (especially if it resulted in fluid discharge). "Sex dreams are about merging or connecting with someone. It can be a longing for love from that person, a symbol of the current state of your relationship with them, or even a desire to adopt some of that person’s thoughts or attitudes as your own." Oh yeah, that makes me feel a ton better.

Dream #2: "Deformed Genitals." Okay what? The only genital dream I have ever had was possessing both a penis and vagina and finding a way to make them work in harmony. And trust me when I say that 2 1/2 minute dream was AWESOME. Guess what? According to these dream experts, I too experienced a "deformed genital" dream, (well if that's what it means to be deformed, bring it). "Depending on the specific deformity, you may be questioning your sexuality or sexual desire. Is there guilt, shame, or anxiety surrounding your sex life or lack thereof? Maybe you are having a surge of creativity that needs to be “released.” Or maybe I just need to increase my intake of cock....

Dream #3: "Bodily Functions." Well if you are dreaming about farting in public then you have totally wasted your dream time in my humble opinion. I mean is this the best your subconscious can come up with? "A very common dream is peeing/pooping/ menstruating in public. These dreams are usually about anxiety, shame, or privacy and stem from a fear of exposing or expressing yourself—especially creatively—to others. Searching unsuccessfully for a toilet may indicate a conflict between wanting to share your talents with the world." The day I dream about getting my period in public or search in vain for toilet is the day I stop writing this blog---that is a promise.

Dream #4: "Nudity." "Public nudity is a classic anxiety dream about being vulnerable and shedding your defenses in front of others." Saying "my eyes, my eyes" is completely up to the individual.

Dream #5: "Weird Pregnancies." Not just for the ladies, men too can experience a "bun in the oven" kinda moment. "Pregnancy dreams are about new cycles or phases of our life. It may be a new idea, solution, creative endeavor, job, relationship, or even a new you that is gestating." Or perhaps you are just experiencing the side effects from that 4th shot of Patron and steak burrito with extra beans you ate at 1:00 in the morning.

Source: http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-decode-my-dream-5-gross-dream-symbols-explained/

Hot Mess

2011-04-08T14:19:00.000-05:00

I have been in a "mood" for a few weeks now. Much like how Emma and Jack cycle through "behaviors" I find I cycle through moods. The good news is I have ~~little~~ no desire to go on a bender but I can feel myself getting anxious and getting anxious is a very bad and dangerous thing for me. Forget my tendency to make poor decisions---trust me, we don't want to go there again but it's the overall feeling of unhappiness I would like to side step this time around.

It pains me to admit that turning 40 has something to do with my less than enthusiastic outlook on life right now. I don't care what anyone says, it is milestone of sorts and there are days where I don't think I have much to show for it, (my children are a given, of course). I find it much easier to list everything I haven't accomplished rather than giving myself props for just surviving what life has given me. It also doesn't help to be surround by a plethora of people who are successful and somehow manage balancing motherhood with a career as well as being a supportive spouse. Even on my best days, I still question how stellar of a parent I really am; I have no career to speak of and Matt may have a few "words" of his own in regards to my supportive nature, (or lack there of). Wow, on paper I kinda suck.

I don't know when I started to feel like I needed a paycheck to validate who I am or all that I do. Sure, having more money would be nice but I do find it worrisome I need a direct deposit slip to remind me I have some kind of value. There are days, of course, I recognize what I am good at---I can write a pretty mean letter and develop an agenda, bullet points and all like no other. But even when I purposely say aloud, "you totally nailed that one, Sarah," I'm still left with some feelings of inadequacy.

It comes as no coincidence that I spiraled out of control 5 years ago right around my 35th birthday. And despite my best efforts these past 5 years to work on myself, to work on my marriage and to work on being a more content person, I still feel like I'm falling short. Perhaps the biggest difference of what I am going through now versus what I went through back then is I don't want to disengage from life nor do I want to get angry at it either. I just want to feel some sense of center.

While I still enjoy running, I'm not enjoying the competitiveness of it any more. I thought if I signed up for "races" it would motivate me to train hard and relish in some sort of accomplishment. Well the truth is my legs hurt and my body is constantly saying fuck you. But more importantly, what am I pushing myself exactly for? A fucking t-shirt that I will never wear? A plastic bag filled with paper flyers, a band aid dispenser and I plastic water bottle probably containing high levels of PVC? No wonder my body is saying "fuck you."

I recently received an offer for one week of free yoga. Not just "any" yoga, but hot ass yoga. Okay it's not called hot ass yoga, but it is yoga done degrees as in temperature. Beginning classes get no warmer than 85 degrees while a more advanced class can weigh in at 95 degrees. The novice, (who must be mentally imbalanced), will be treated to a 105 degree room. Well who's to say I couldn't find my "center" surrounded by really hot and sweaty ass people? Upon considering taking advantage of this offer, I made the following proclamation on my FB wall:

"Lord have mercy I'm seriously considering trying "hot" yoga. Have a coupon for a free week...."

As you can imagine, my FB posse did not disappoint with their comments.

Good luck Sarah, I tried it and it made me want to yak in the nearest garbage can
The heat coupled with the "odor" in the room really added something special to the experience
Is it saying something that my first thought when Sarah used the word was that "hot" had nothing to do with the room temperature?
C'mon, Sarah, can't you think of some other way to sweat a little where there's little risk of vomiting?
Sounds like pure madness....you should think it over (over a couple cocktails!!)
I recommend regular yoga followed by vodka.
Could you imagine someone farting in that class?
Can you imagine a bunch of sweaty naked people farting through an hour of hot yoga? It actually sounds awesome!
Can't hardly stand saunas. Not sure I could hold up well in a hot sweaty smelly yoga class. Although, it does peak my curiosity. Can't wait for the blog to follow
Hint: do NOT go on Monday or Sunday -- after a weekend people sweat out cigs, alcohol, garlic - nasty. And be prepared to wring out your clothes. Other than that -- have fun!

As you can see, the support was overwhelming although the idea of taking copious mental notes while in a Downward Facing Dog pose is just too good to pass up.

God knows I hate to sweat and seeing it is recommended to not only bring a change of clothes but to purchase a cover for your mat to soak up excess sweat I am tempted to drive by the studio and park my ass in a Panera instead. Yet maybe, just maybe I will find enlightenment---I mean the American Indians have been practicing the art of sweat lodges for centuries and see "visions." This mama needs a vision or at the very least, some means to feel better about myself. I think it is safe to say, however, that during the process, I'm not going to smell that great.

When "Reality" and "Reality" Collide

2011-04-07T09:46:00.000-05:00

I think my "reality" may be a bit skewed. Truth is I try not to acknowledge my reality very often because I find it really depressing. Now while some may suggest I live in a state of denial I choose to think I live in the moment and given enough time, those moments will eventually accumulate into reality. Granted it's all smoke, glass and mirrors, but this approach seems to work for me---unless I'm trying to plan for something 6 months down the road then I find myself really up shits creek.

Take my house for instance. Built in 1927 it's going to have "issues" including a few deaths. I only know of one and frankly that's enough. While not a "true" believer of the paranormal, I will concede there is a possibility we have guests residing here---all friendly, mind you. So why I feel it necessary to watch paranormal/ghost hunter shows on TV is baffling---I mean why even entertain the possibility of the existence of apparitions. Yet I can't stop watching one particular show---"The Haunted" on Animal Planet. I was a bit skeptical at first---ghost busting with animals hardly seems plausible, yet each episode draws me. The "animals" of the house are the catalyst; super sensitive to all things not of this world, (rolling my eyes a little), but the show quickly weaves these creepy ass tales bathed in night vision light, (you know, the green hue), and "paranormal experts." It's the shows that throw in the "devil", however, that have me positively glued.

The episode I watched Tuesday, (under the blanket of darkness as in no light on), was about a husband, wife, daughter and their dog Fido hoping to find their dream home. Upon driving up to one particular property, all of them noticed the phrase "Leave or Die" written on the side of the home in "red" (whether it was paint or blood was up for interpretation, I guess). Not deterred by such a "statement" and dismissing it as some sort of "prank" they decided this house was perfect for them. Let's just stop there for moment, shall we? Forget that ghosts may or may not exist and let's just contemplate seeing a house with the words "Leave or Die" scrawled on the side. I don't know about you but I would say that's fucked, the neighborhood is fucked and I ain't buying this sorry ass excuse for a house. But that's just me---an angry and perhaps picky person.

Well as you can surmise, the couple moved in and their dog Fido, (which really was his name), started to losing his hair then the husband started losing his hair then his wife woke up to her own hair being "singed". Well you were "warned" weren't you? Evidently when there are high levels of "EMF" in your house, one's hair can start falling out. So all of you 40-something men out there who are bitching about losing your hair listen up---your fucking houses are haunted. I will admit, however, that once the paranormal team entered the premise and one member suddenly started growling because she was "temporarily" possessed, I switched a light on, (did I mention I was watching this show in the dark AND Matt wasn't home?)

The show concluded with the couple just abandoning the residence because the paranormal team, (who only had been a "formal group" for 5 years), said there wasn't anymore they could do and leaving might be the best solution. Stellar suggestion. Not only is the housing market for shit right now, just trying to dump a devil infested lair. There was a silver lining, though---Fido, the owner's dog, grew his hair back.

After the show was over I knew I had a decision to make---book my ass upstairs and hide under the covers or wait it out until Matt came home. I chose the later. So upon entering the house, Matt was a little giddy----evidently he thought I had waited up to have sex. I promptly told him what I had watched and I didn't want to go upstairs until he got home. Trying to suppress a smile, Matt said, "So Emma and Jack were one their own to fend off ghosts?" "No," I replied, reaching for my jar of Melatonin, "I figured I could defend better if I stayed on the first floor. Plus if I went to bed, I would "hear" stuff downstairs. I don't need that kind of stress." "I know one way I could ease that stress," as Matt took my hand....

Needless to say "reality" settled in 5 minutes later---my Melatonin kicked in the minute my head hit the pillow leaving Matt wide awake with a case of blue balls. I wonder, however, if our ghost kept him company.

Brioche Please with a Side of Brioche

2011-04-05T14:06:00.001-05:00

I think my ideal day would entail hot sex and eating a loaf of bread---where my fantasy gets muddy is the order in which I would do it. While the mere suggestion of choosing a loaf of crusty French bread over hot kinky sex isn't fathomable to some, I truly falter when trying to choose---that's how much I love bread.

Recently I've come to recognize how "high maintenance" I truly am. But I'm not alone---women, every single one of us, are high maintenance. Of course there are degrees, but if I were to poll the husbands, (as in ask a question, not actually "pole" them), I have little doubt they would readily agree. It's like my love affair with bread---Matt tells me to eat what I want which is met with "I will get fat" which is countered with,"but I will still love you" concluded with "oh so you want me to be fat...." I know, irrational dribble all over a slice of yeast.

But besides body image and general self-esteem issues which should have been put to rest years ago by the female race, we find ourselves challenged in the bedroom i.e. needing a reason to have sex. I mean for most of us, the incentive of getting pregnant has long left and now we are left with the mechanics of it and the question: what exactly do I need to (a) get turned on; (b) not mislead my husband that this will be an every night occurrence; and (c) remind myself why having an orgasm is kinda kick ass. Evidently "we", meaning women, need to tap into our creative side for some much needed "fantasies" (or so I'm told).

Once men get suckered into taking vows the only given "fantasy" is that the sex they once adored will stay regular. For women, I think the "fantasy" is skipping the entire "intercourse" part and going into immediate cuddle/sleep mode (until death do us part). And as I previously stated, I think I'd opt for a baguette---no sex or cuddling required. Evidently I am missing out on something, because there are not 1, not 2 but 10 sexual fantasies women have. Really? I can't decide if that's too many or not enough. Never the less, here is a sampling.

1---Sexual Submission. Otherwise known as "spank me I'm a bad girl" fantasy, this entails being manhandled and taking it whether one likes it or not. Positively romantic. As pointed out, however, "women often imagine themselves being ravaged and taken control of — it doesn't mean you want it in your real sex life, but it's fun to entertain the idea." Which leads me to ask the following question: what is the fucking point of fantasizing if you are too much of a pussy to see it through? I'd rather eat a loaf of bread.

2---Voyeuristic Sex. Sounds good if you are 20-something rocking a nice ass bod otherwise, pass. As for watching another couple "do it"---I would have some criteria. Hotness being one and second a well ripped dude. No offense to my husband, but look, I want to at least see some abs. Otherwise pass me a Asiago cheese bagel.

3---Knight in Shining Armour. For this fantasy to work I think one needs to be under the influence. I am also on good authority that chain mail can cause a rash. If given the choice between a "knight" and a "bad boy" I would go bad boy every time. Why? Because if anyone is going to get me to submit to anything, it's going to be badness.

4---Sex with an Ex. Keep in mind folks, this a fantasy but lord have mercy not a fantasy one should admit to having---EVER. As explained in this lame ass article, these are the "men" who once rocked our worlds and we wouldn't mind revisiting again. I just wouldn't share that bit of info with the dude you are currently boning.

5---Girl on Girl. In theory, I think this is one fantasy husbands may just dig. I'll admit I have on occasion let my mind wander to the girl side of life but never with someone I know, (well not recently). Anyway, while not even remotely interested in switching teams I do appreciate the hotness of 2 well manicured, fit and natural babes going at it. And in my humble opinion, that should make me kinda hot for admitting such a thing, right?

I could go on with the list but frankly all this suggested fantasizing is leaving me exhausted. Wanting to fuck shouldn't be such a chore and certainly shouldn't involve this much thought. Or should it? Seeing I would rather "make love" to a nice crusty loaf, (which sounds like an euphemism for old lady lesbian sex), perhaps I am not the best judge. But what would you say if I told you there has been a "study" linking low sex drive to white bread? Well if the British are studying it, then it must be true.

“Foods such as white bread release the sugar more quickly than their wholegrain counterparts — and too much sugar is associated with energy slumps, which mean you won’t have the energy for sex.”

Well mutha fucka you don't say. I'm a little unclear if they are defining "white bread" as merely "Wonder Bread" or the ever crunchy and ever addicting French baguette. But it does it explain why I am such an animal in bed with an insatiable appetite----I am a whole wheat, multi-grain kinda gurl. And butter? So not needed....

Sources: http://www.everydayhealth.com/sexual-health/better-sex/10-sexual-fantasies-for-women.aspx?xid=nl_EverydayHealthSexualHealth_20110404 and http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-stop-eating-white-bread-if-you-want-to-have-more-sex/

Guess Who's Lit?

2011-04-01T08:55:00.000-05:00

Rest assured, I probably will be lit sometime this weekend but alcohol is not what I am referencing in my title---I am referring to the campaign "Light it Up Blue" to bring awareness to autism and to kick off Autism Awareness month. I know, how many "months" can be dedicated to crap or how many colors can we assign to ailments whether it be physical or mental. And don't get me started on the ribbons---jesus the ribbon thing has manifested into its own disease. If you have a diagnosis then you get your very own color and ribbon to be a constant reminder---as if you're going to forget you have AIDS. I did a little research on color assignments and here are a sampling of the "ailments" assigned to each:

Red: Most "commonly" associated with AIDS and HIV but now shared with heart disease, stroke and substance abuse. It is also the assigned color for MADD and DARE.

Pink: Primarily breast cancer awareness but all childhood cancers are being represented by pink.

Yellow: (Sit tight for this list) "A symbol for MIA/POW, suicide prevention, adoptive parents, amber alerts, bladder cancer, endometriosis, and a general symbol for hope."

Pale Yellow: (evidently a "sub category"): Spina bifida

Burgundy: (now we are entering "shades): "This color is a symbol of brain aneurysm, Cesarean section (worn upside down), headaches, hemangioma, vascular malformation, hospice care, multiple myeloma, William's syndrome, Thrombophilia, Antiphospholid Antibody Syndrome, and adults with disabilities."

Purple: (another laundry list of fun) "This color is a symbol of pancreatic cancer, testicular cancer, thyroid cancer, domestic violence, ADD, alzheimer's, religious tolerance, animal abuse, the victims of 9/11 including the police and firefighters, Crohn's disease and colitis, cystic fibrosis, lupus, leimyosarcoma, and fibromyalgia."

Blue: (no real "thought" behind the grouping of these) "This color is a symbol of drunk driving, child abuse, Osteogenesis Imperfecta (OI), the victims of hurricane Katrina, dystonia, acute respiratory distress syndrome (ARDS), alopecia, Education, Epstein-Barr Virus, Save the Music, colon cancer (alternative ribbon color: brown) NOTE TO READERS: I think blue is a better choice for colon cancer rather than brown in my humble opinion, colorectal cancer (alternative ribbon color: brown), and anti-tobacco - particularly anti-second hand smoke (in Canada; alternative ribbon color: brown), I Love Clean Air/ILCA Campaign (Japan)."

What a cluster fuck and I didn't even hit on green, teal, white, black, brown, pearl, orange and every fucking shade in between. Let me put it this way, if you can't find your ailment or disease assigned to a color you are hopeless. Our lives are nothing more than a never ending Pantone color chart.

But back to the color blue and how landmarks all over the country, including my front porch, are going to be bathed in blue light for the next 2 days. While Autism Speaks adopted a plain blue puzzle piece as their logo, (rather than the multi-colored puzzle piece), I find some irony with the choice---I mean blue doesn't exactly scream optimism and happiness rather melancholy and (gasp) sadness. While some would argue this is a perfect assignment to autism, the marketing professional in me wants to say "really?"

Logistically it would be a fucking nightmare and pseudo acid trip to light up with multiple colors, (although we seem to find a way during the holiday season). So here we are, families trying to promote awareness to autism yet those who don't know my family might mistaken my "blue" light bulb as support to "Save the Music" or "Loving Clean Air", (I mean who doesn't?).

I try to do my part for awareness---believe me, I am aware of autism 24/7. I participate in "The Light It Up Blue" campaign; I have autism vanity plates; I donate yearly to our local Autism Society chapter; and we walk/raise money for the annual Walk Now event in Chicago. The problem with "awareness though, is we become numb to it---whether that be for cancer, drug abuse or autism. And while I applaud the effort to create dialog for autism, (or any of the other above mentioned), it's much more than the "disease" being defined; it is about defining the individual or in our case, individuals and that's where I struggle.

My children are not autistic, they have autism. I know I have devoted time to this topic before but I feel it's worth mentioning again. The "awareness" shouldn't be limited to the disease, but behind the diagnosis there are children, teenagers, young adults, Emma and Jack. And they understand when they aren't invited to play or made fun of because they squeal or have a harder time expressing themselves. But the "awareness" shouldn't stop there either---there are moms and dads and siblings behind the diagnosis too who need help or at the very least a person willing to listen.

So if you see a building or porch lit up blue this weekend, don't think about the statistics associated with autism or the causes behind it; take a moment to think about the people living in that house or reflect for a moment on a family you know living with this challenge. I know my family would greatly appreciate that pause and thought.

Source: http://www.trinitylondon.com/awareness-ribbon-meanings.asp

Perverts Need Not Apply

2011-03-26T13:11:00.000-05:00

Trepidation. That's how I would describe writing this blog post. On one hand, I can't believe such a "possibility" exists, that possibility being a "product" where on the other hand it is beyond wrong and its abuse eminent. Even more disconcerting is once I tell you about this possibility, it can be done too me so long as you have access to my FB account and $34.95. The legality of this product seems sketchy at best too me but lord knows I'm not a lawyer. What it does raise is the morality question within all of us---just because something is accessible does it make it right to use? I guess I'll let that determination be left up to each of you but know this: if you pull the trigger and buy this product, you are kinda creepy and a perv.

Imagining what a person looks like without clothes on is completely normal. I am completely guilty of it---if I happen to see a ripped dude without a shirt on I totally want to see what's going on below the Mason Dixon Line. And as guys will fully admit, seeing a woman's bodacious rack without the benefit of a shirt and bra is total money. I will even go one further---there are people I know in my real life that I'm pseudo curious about but rest assured, that curiosity is fleeting---I'm married after all, (but I'm not fucking dead). So what if I could put my curiosity to rest with the swipe of a credit card and instant download? Could I, (in good conscious), strip someone down virtually? Well the makers of FalseFlesh are hoping I can---

So what in the hell is FalseFlesh? It is a "revolutionary graphic design program that creates REALISTIC nude approximations from existing photographs. In minutes transform any digital camera image, Facebook, or MySpace picture into full frontal nudity! FalseFlesh also allows you to modify other physical attributes of the subject such as clothing style and even body type." That's right folks, that awesome picture of you standing in front of the Eiffel Tower can be converted into a nudie pic with the click of mouse. Bonjour!

Need more convincing, (to go run and delete all your pictures currently on FB or MySpace page)? "FalseFlesh can elegantly eliminate clothing from any photograph and provide you with natural looking nude flesh." More?

"FalseFlesh gives you the amazing ability to actually see under clothes in a variety of ways. The software not only gives you the option to accurately fit included nude bodies on any head, but also allows you to really see under some types of clothing! This works on non cotton bathing suits by filtering out gamma/infrared rays of light and allows for the visual enhancement of breasts and nipples creating a see through effect. Imagine being able to copy/paste pictures from Facebook or MySpace of girls you actually know into FalseFlesh."

Raise your hand if you need a shower? I don't know why I'm surprised that something like this exists---sick and twisted knows no bounds. But what has me really unsettled are the implications. Forget about the legions of pedophiles out there; I'm talking about people you trust enough to share pictures with via a social network. This program gives people the tools to alter who you are to satisfy an insatiable curiosity. As a woman, that terrifies the shit out of me, (and trust me, you don't want to see me naked).

Of course the creators of FalseFlesh aren't selling this product to promote perversion; they are selling this product as a form of amusement. Fascinating. I have never denied looking at porn or enjoying a centerfold or two in my lifetime. But the difference is a no brainer---these ladies and gentleman have given consent and monetary compensation; those utilizing FalseFlesh are creating an illusion at the expense of some one's integrity and trust.

It's rare I get "preachy" when it comes to matters of sex but downloading a program to get a glimpse of some one's goods because they aren't attainable in real life is wrong---I mean really wrong. And while you may be nodding your head in agreement, I'm sure we are in the minority. I just know I could never in good conscious do that to somebody, even a "celebrity". Lord knows I love a good cock shot but only if that cock is a willing participant. Even this pervert has standards.

Post Script: My source for this post was from http://www.thesmokingjacket.com/humor/falseflesh-facebook-app. Because of the nature of the product, I am not providing the actual link.

Who was that Masked Vibrator?

2011-03-24T19:05:00.000-05:00

Looks can be deceiving but admittedly, some deception is positively delicious, unless it is the lower calorie/fat free version of a favorite food. Look potato chips are meant to be salty and fried in lard, real lard, not some healthier oil concoction. I'm a fan of dual application myself---something that has one intended purpose but can be used for something else entirely. Take a muffin tin for example---you can make muffins/cupcakes with it or use it to organize/separate paper clips, rubber bands, thumbs tacks etc. I know, that's a completely lame example and I would never clutter my own desk with a fucking muffin tin organizer, but you get the gist. Some people make it their life's work to take the "ordinary" and make it "extraordinary"---sounds like a colossal waste of time too me but to each their own, (I suppose it would help if I were creative).

This fine piece of machinery pictured to the right is called the Hitachi Magic Wand and is designed to give said owner a "soothing massage, operated by a two speed switch." Lovely. But I happen to know 3 women who utilize it more as a clitoris massager if you will and even the manufacturers of Magic Wand have conceded it has endless possibilities.

"While we offer the Hitachi Magic Wand as a household electric massager, many know it for its reputation in the bedroom where it releases the tensions of everyday living, delivering massage, stimulation, and intense orgasms."

I'll admit this Harry Potter wand, (and what looks like a sorcerer's stone up top), intimates the hell out of me. I mean it operates on "110-120 volts with speeds of 6000/5000 rpm." Holy fucking rug burn. But those who swear by the wand's magic reassure me they haven't literally rubbed out their clits, although have admitted the lower speed is all they can handle. Amateurs....

So are there other vibes out there posing as one "thing" when in actuality they are just lying in wait to be used for self-gratification? You bet your ass there are!

1---Rubber Duckie You's So Fine

If you have kids, you are familiar with Rubber Duckie, (thanks to the ever lovable, possibly gay, Ernie from Sesame Street). Well perhaps we know why Ernie loved Duckie so much---I Rub My Duckie "Massager" promises lots of splish splash the next time you decide to soak in the tub.

2---Cleanliness is Next to Godliness, (and who doesn't scream "Oh God" on occasion?)

It's a sponge, wait, no, it's a Sensual Bath Buddy vibrating sponge. Go ahead, drop the soap, this particular "buddy" won't tell.

3---Excuse Me While I Go Powder My Nose, (wink)

Ladies are notorious for fixing their faces---well gents perhaps it ain't powder she's applying after all. The Powder Puff Vibrator gives "compact" a whole new meaning. Added bonus? You can freaking watch yourself get off in the mirror!

4---And With This Ring, I Thee Wed

An accessory should be versatile and with the Hustler Vibrator Ring you can adorn your favorite outfit with a little more flair, (or pretend you are one half of the Wonder Twins---"Wonder Twin Powers Activate....my G-Spot!)

5---Polish Change

Sometimes you just need a fresh coat of polish or in this case, the need to polish one off. Go all "incognito" with the Nail Polish Vibe. Pink is every one's color.

6---Lush Lashes

I was not blessed with long, lush eye lashes nor have I been able to master the application of mascara. Well I would be willing to give it another go---a go between my legs that is with the Incognito Mascara Vibe. I'm quite certain it could make me feel luscious.

7---Pucker Up

A girl's arsenal isn't complete without a tube---a tube of lipstick that vibrates. I'd gladly part my lips and apply.

Source: http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-10-sex-toys-in-disguise/P10/

One is NOT the Lonliest Number

2011-03-23T13:42:00.000-05:00

One of the perks of writing a blog, (besides having a really loyal audience--thank you posse), is the crap load of junk mail I receive which is a direct result of my "salty" topics. Of course I don't open any of the mail, but with subject lines like, "Want to fuck?"; "Soft penis?" and my personal favorite, "Get rid of vaginal dryness"; I find it hard to resist not clicking those messages open. Besides receiving these tempting offers, I receive links to a variety of online newsletters including one called "Psych Central". I do find it reassuring that someone out in cyberspace recognizes I'm a little "off". Of course the headlines I tend to gravitate towards have to do with sex and the one I saw yesterday was no exception: "The Top 10 Myths Behind Masturbation".

Now when I hear the word "myth" I instantly think Loch Ness Monster and Big Foot which I think are perfectly sound aliases for the word "dick". And while it saddens me to think there could be any myths surrounding the soundness and complete pleasure of masturbating, evidently someone feels there are. The article led off with "Does masturbating cause blindness?" Well if it did, I would have been an avid braille reader starting in high school, working up to a cane and seeing eye dog by college. Along the same lines, some have wondered if masturbating can cause mental illness...well that seems a little more plausible in my case, but of course the answer is bullshit. So what are some of the other "myths" out there? Unfortunately there is a whole fucking list....

1---Do spouses continue to masturbate after marriage? Hells to the yes bitches. I would argue we do it more. Dr. Ashworth, author of this titillating article reassures there's nothing wrong with yanking your crank once vows are exchanged---he even suggests "pleasuring [oneself] is a quick stress reliever, a “pick-me-up”, or a way to [relieve one's arousal without] going through the whole process of sex." I like the way you think, doctor---short cut sex.

2---Why are people so embarrassed about masturbation? Well I don't think this is a "myth" exactly---it's a given people do it and just don't talk about publicly, (except for me, of course). For some reason we are ingrained to feel ashamed about it. Fuck that. Dudes need to get rid of built up spunk and girls just need to figure out how it all works. Say it loud, say it proud people---I just jerked today!

3---How much masturbation is too much? Again, I say there's no such thing but you do need to balance out "alone time" with "partner time" otherwise why are you sharing a bed with someone. The good doctor says it's all about "balance" and variety. I agree. Sometimes I hold my vibrator with my left hand.

4---Is shower masturbation okay? Well if you are a woman and using a toy, make sure there is no electrical cord and it is water proof, otherwise carry on. Also be wary of how strong you can become in midst of an orgasm---I damned near pulled out a towel bar in our shower once.

5---Will eating Kellogs cornflakes make me stop doing it, (it as in masturbating)? What the fuck is this nonsense? A brief history lesson:

"In the early part of this century, John Harvey Kellogg gained a reputation both as a nutritionist and a sexual adviser. The foods that Kellogg created (including the now-famous corn flakes) were designed to promote health and decrease interest in sex. Mr. Kellogg thought sex was the ultimate abomination and remained celibate even in marriage. Masturbation was the worst sin imaginable to him. He believed it led to leprosy, tuberculosis, heart disease, epilepsy, dimness of vision, insanity, idiocy, and death."

There is only one conclusion I can draw---Kellogg wasn't getting any. Furthermore I will no longer buy any form of corn flakes on the slim chance it is true. Myth or not, I hold my little bean and my ability to rub it just right, in the highest fucking regard.

Source: http://psychcentral.com/lib/2007/the-top-10-myths-behind-masturbation/?xid=nl_EverydayHealthSexualHealth_20110321

Honor, Obey & Make Me Lunch?

2011-03-22T15:20:00.000-05:00

For being together as long as we have, Matt and I get along remarkably well. I think the secret to our success is Matt let's me do what I want and I readily spread like peanut butter, (and to my friend Cannonball, I do try to utilize that phrase as much as possible). Of course we aren't impervious from the "occasional" argument and when we throw down, we throw down. And what normally results is the phrase, "you knew who I was when you married me" from Matt. Yeah, I knew you at age 21 and was really hoping you would fucking grow up by now....just kidding.

Not to toot my own horn, but I am decent cook---not 5-star gourmet meals, but they are hot, edible and more often than not, relatively tasty. After helping himself to bowl #3 of Italian Wedding Soup I just asked point blank if Matt had eaten lunch at work. "I rarely eat lunch," he said. "How come?" I replied. "Well you never make me one." Here we go....

Matt truly believes I should make him lunch everyday. Because of the nature of his work, he's normally on job sites that don't have a cafeteria let alone a restaurant of any sorts and he learned long ago eating from a "roach coach" truly is taking your life into your own hands. What amuses me is Matt really isn't chauvinistic--but he is normally the young guy on a crew and the 50+ set have wives from a different generation---a generation that makes their men lunch.

As you can surmise, I refuse to do it. He's an adult and I have 2 very adorable yet needy children to attend. I pride myself in having a well stocked pantry and fridge---whatever you desire, I probably have it but make it your fucking self. Yet I'll admit I started to feel bad. Maybe there are wives out there from my generation that make lunch for their husbands. So with that possibility, (small as it might be), I posed the following question on my FB wall: Informal Poll: How Many Wives Make Lunch for their Husbands?" Well 36 comments later, here are some of the highlights:

Can you please help me understand what this lunch making is that you speak of?
Lololol!
No way--I make dinner, and [my husband] looks forward to the surprise, but how the hell am I supposed to figure out what he wants for lunch? Dos he eat with other fitters? If so, here's a great lesson opportunity! Make his lunch for a week, with total little boy crap--PBJ on Wonder with crusts cut off, orange smilies, goldfish, juice box, and a Gogurt. Then see if he's still requesting your "Cleaver"...
Sarah...tell Matt to ask his buddies how much they get laid?? Uh-huh...thought so! Sandwich or sex.....hmmmmm
Occasionally, after a particularly epic boning.
are you serious? bwah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Seeing this is my thread I will have the last word---Matt totally married right and that does not include lunch but does entail spreading like peanut butter. That is all
So obvious that Sarah started this whole thing to use that 'like peanut butter' line and THAT is all

(now you see why I referenced peanut butter in paragraph #1). As you can see, the consensus is fuck that---make your own lunch, (although it was revealed some husbands make their wives lunch....that's another blog post entirely).

Upon entering my kitchen this morning, I noticed a piece of paper secured by a series of magnets. The headline read "The Good Wife's Guide: from "Housekeeping Monthly", May 13, 1955." The message was clear---I needed to brush up on my wifely obligations.

1--- Have dinner ready. Most men are hungry when they get home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed. Note to self: No dinner for Matt tonight.

2---Prepare yourself. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people. Note to self: Remove all make-up, put on 3-XL sweat shirt and baggy ass sweat pants.

3---Be a little gay and little more interesting for him. Note to self: I'll show you gay...bend over.

4---Minimize all noise. Encourage the children to be quiet. Note to self: Put on gangsta rap and feed E&J straight sugar.

5---Arrange his pillow and speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice. Note to self: Place said pillow over his face and ask in a soothing tone if he can still breathe.

6---Make him comfortable in his chair or on the couch. Note to self: Provide him a blanket and tell him that's where he will be sleeping tonight.

7---A good wife always knows her place. Note to self: Sitting at a bar and not making him a fucking lunch.

No Wire Hangers

2011-03-21T12:12:00.000-05:00

When people meet me for the first time, they inevitably ask what I do for a living---completely expected. My standard response has always been, "I'm a stay at home mom". Recently, however, I have been met with "Oh, so does that mean you "work" from home?" Why yes, mother fuckers, I work my ass off to ensure my household operates like a fine oiled machine otherwise my 2 kids on the spectrum will freak the hell out. Of course I say it in a more "PC" way and then as an after thought I say, "Oh, I also write a blog" as if that's going to justify my very existence. Surprisingly that impresses most people when it really shouldn't----anyone can create a blog---it's raising 2 kids with autism that should impress.

After establishing I don't "work from home" (and not generating a dime) , I am usually asked what I blog about; more specifically is it a "Mommy Blog"? Hells to the no bitches. Not that I have anything against "Mommy Bloggers" but how much do we really want to know about diapers, bottles, cracked nipples from breast feeding and zero sex drive? (even if it is presented in a witty, comical kind of way). I would rather pretend I know something about nothing that includes fetishes, whips, chains and sex drives that can't be tamed. At best, I am a good ~~bullshitter~~, story teller. But if I'm being honest, it would feel deceitful if I tried adopting the "Mommy" blog format---I am not a typical mommy and I sure as hell don't have a typical household. I don't even write about autism on a consistent basis because (1) it can be really depressing and (2) it can really be depressing.

I ran across an article on Frisky.com with the following headline: "Sometimes Mommy Bloggers Need to Shut It." Sounds positively scandalous---tell me more. Evidently a Mommy blogger did the unthinkable---she publicly stated she prefers her son over her daughter. Interesting. It wasn't so much a "sex" issue but rather a bonding issue---she bonded easier with her son than daughter with postpartum depression perhaps playing a role. Okay, some would argue this woman was brave enough to put in writing what many mom's are already thinking while some would argue her admission was beyond shitty. I'm leaning more towards the "shitty" side after reading this quote:

"There are moments -- in my least sane and darkest thoughts -- when I think it wouldn't be so bad if I lost my daughter, as long as I never had to lose my son (assuming crazy, dire, insane circumstances that would never actually occur in real life). I know that sounds completely awful and truly crazy."

I concur with your last sentence---what you said was awful and fucking bat shit crazy. Now Mommy Dearest has backed off from this "quote" and tried to clarify her usage of the word "lost".

"I never, never, NEVER said I “wish my daughter was dead” EVER!!!! Nor would I. It had occurred to me that maybe — if something crazy happened and my husband and I divorced (which would not happen) — she would go with him. I also have a lot of friends who are involved in child services and it’s occurred to me, what if she were taken away? NOT DEAD. I never used that word. Never would use that word. In fact, I would honestly want to kill anyone who tried to take or hurt either of my children in ANY way. I would NEVER allow that to happen. I would stop at nothing to protect them BOTH. The comment was meant to reflect ONLY the different types of bonds that I have with my children, and that it is easier for me to “separate” from my daughter than my son. Under ordinary circumstances. That is all. I am shocked and ashamed that all of you took my words so poorly."

Well little lady, (otherwise known as Kate), you're the one who should be shocked and ashamed for posting such a crap statement in the first place. Seriously. Even more incredulous is posting a picture of yourself with your daughter. What the fuck is up with that co-cheese? May I be frank---one mommy to another? There is a responsibility one assumes when becoming a parent---placing the well being for your child above your own. And while "bonding" is a topic worth defining and perhaps relating to your own experiences, there is a right way and wrong way to do it and sister you chose the wrong way.

There is a small part of me that empathizes with Kate's fuck up---I mean the best way to relate to an audience is to draw upon personal experience---I get that. But you also need to remember a blog is public and not a journal. Trust me, I have fucked up that concept myself a few times but never when writing about my kids. It goes without saying blogging on the world wide web is an awesome experience but an experience you need to take seriously and to make a sweeping generalization about your child is completely irresponsible. Because even if you delete it, Kate, there will be always a trail for your daughter to find....

So what is this Mommy Blogger to do besides deleting her blog and praying to god her daughter doesn't ever uncover such crappy ass prose written about her? Well evidently she's having another baby and is hoping for the following:

"I secretly hope that this new baby is a girl. I want to start over with a little girl now that I’m healthy and an experienced parent. I want to love her and cherish her as she should be. And maybe…I can learn to love and parent a girl properly, and I can use this to change and parent my older daughter better, too. Maybe I can save us all before it’s too late."

And that's where you lost the little bit of empathy I had for you Kate. Not only have you minimized the problem you have at hand, but now have burden yet another child to try to fix the mess you have clearly created. And yes, my dear, you have created this problem---the minute you gave it a voice to an Internet filled with readers. And while imperfection reigns supreme within my life and my own home, I at least know when to draw the line between "educating" those around me and seeking out professionals to help me. You may have thought you were doing a great service by sharing but actually what you did was a disservice---your proclamation of being "honest" was done at the expense of your daughter. That is isn't brave, that's just selfish.

Source: http://blogs.babble.com/being-pregnant/2011/03/15/mom-confession-i-think-i-love-my-son-a-little-bit-more/

The Vagina Monologues

2011-03-19T12:51:00.000-05:00

I hate going to gynecologist. It's not because of the intrusive nature of the visit---I could give a shit about spreading my legs---but the inevitability of having to wait to be seen. I don't know what it is about the gynecologist's office but it's a given you are going to wait to be seen at least 45 minutes past your original appointment. For me it was 1 hour 10 minutes before my doc rubbed my boobs, shoved his fist up my twat and took a swab of my DNA. I did, however, find some amusement when I heard the song "Papa Don't Preach" piped through the sound system---"But I made up my mind...I'm keeping my baby...."

I don't know why anyone would want to be a gyne. Sure, the science of procreation is amazing but once you get past that all you're left with are hairy vaginas casting off a tuna-esque type scent. Then there are the aging vaginas you have to contend with---all dried up and shit. Jesus I like to think my vagina is a-okay but the idea of seeing a door of revolving vaginas everyday is beyond comprehension.

I suppose the "beauty" of the vagina is the multiple layers making it up. And just like the female persona, getting to the core of how it works has its challenges. I actually feel sorry for the male species as they try to navigate through the layers and try to crack the "clitoris code" and "g-spot ultimatum". Talk about mission impossible. Yet men across this great nation rise to this very challenge knowing full well failure may be eminent. God bless you, men---every last one of you.

While women may not want to acknowledge it, we do garner some responsibility to our vagina---as in maintenance, sanitation and avoiding possible abuse. I recognize that sometimes having a vagina is cumbersome but if you treat it right the favor will be returned when you least expect it. Let's first talk maintenance---

Chicken of the Sea #Fail:

There is nothing worse than funk coming from your junk. For women, the funk can be a mixture of tuna with a side menstrual delight, (did I make any one's stomach turn with that description?) Add a little "heat" to that concoction and you are teetering on a hazmat situation. Well the makers of Jockey underwear feel our pain and have created a new line of underwear, called "The Outlast" to address the issue of "over-heating" in the crotchtorial region.

“The Outlast® temperature regulating technology behind Jockey® staycool underwear helps your skin feel up to 3° cooler.”

If you are doubter about this "technology" let me put those doubts to rest by telling you NASA scientists are the ones who came up with this type of material to “help balance temperature fluctuations in space.” That's right folks, space, as in the final frontier. I'm a little unclear if my vag will feel weightless but I'm all for an icy "Mentos" kind of twot. It's the fresh maker, you know.

Cleanliness Next to Godliness:

If given the choice, I would prefer sex not have any smell. Even if the vag is healthy I don't want to smell any of the "bi-products". Now I know some guys dig it, but unless it smells like chocolate or freshly brewed coffee, I'm going to take a pass from a huff. But there is also the issue of cleanliness after playing with the puty. Hand washing is always best but what happens if you are out and about---like in a car or forest preserve? (when you are young and still living with your parents, you will lie horizontal anywhere). Don't sweat it. Just reach for a bottle of "Maybe You Touched Your Genitals Hand Sanitizer". I'm not really sure what makes this sanitizer different from other hand sanitizers but the lady on the bottle looks reassured, (after she just finished rubbing one out in the parking lot).

Pack Light:

I suppose one could argue if a vagina can expel a 9 pound baby, then it has the capability of storing a variety of items. I would be reluctant to test that theory out, but I'm not from Pennsylvania and perhaps vagina's are bigger around those parts. So how much "stuff" can one store in a vagina? Well a 27-year old Pennsylvania woman was arrested with the following items found up her snatch:

54 bags of heroin
31 empty heroin bags, (evidently she believes in recycling)
8 prescription pills
$51.22 in cash

Can I get a collective wow? Houdini vagina woman was arrested on suspected burglary and reckless driving and after a routine strip search, all that shit was discovered in her whoo ha. This much is clear---if she was rocking a hymen before said insertion of those 54 bags of heroin she sure as fuck was de-flowered after the $51.22.

Sources: http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-new-underwear-keep-your-vagina-cool-way-cool, http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-just-in-case-your-touched-your-genitals and http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-things-you-shouldnt-put-in-your-vagina

Ass-tastic Part 2

2011-03-16T13:41:00.000-05:00

Before we delve into how to make ass sex ass-tastic, I feel a need to address a comment left by one of my readers by the name of "Amy". Here is her comment:

"TMI. You have been warned. I take huge rectum ripping dumps that make me ache so much after. So I don't think I could handle any size penis back there. Not even a teeny weenie. But I am still curious to know who else besides a porn star can have anal intercourse and like it."

While not a doctor, I think your decision to "refrain" from ass crack love is a sound one, Amy. I also want to reassure you there is no such thing as TMI in my world although the image of you taking "rectum ripping dumps" has forever left a scar.

I certainly don't want to make light of Amy's apparent bowel issues, but I think she brings up a point worth making---if your diet is comprised of greasy foods and/or beans of any variety, you may want to steer clear from the bung. I would even caution the faithful that eat Activia yogurt---I just don't see ass sex ending well for anyone.

So if you can get over the idea of inserting your dick into your lady's ass, (or having your man insert his dick into your ass), what kind of ettiquette/tips/dos and don'ts should we be considering? Well Sarah Stefanson, contributing writer for AskMen.com, devoted 2 articles to the fundamentals of anal lovin' and I feel her expertise is valid. Why? Well her name is Sarah and she spells it correctly and she is a woman---and if a woman is going to put pen to paper about getting it up the rear I think it's in our best interest to listen.

Helpful Tips for Paddling Down the Canal:

1---Lube "It" Up (the "it" being the bung). While I am controlling the urge to say "duh", I'm sure there was some genius who thought greasing up the gears wasn't necessary. But if there are days a twat can be as dry as the Sahara can you just imagine an uncharted tunnel? And while Ms. Stefanson didn't give "an amount", I will---A LOT.

2---Use Dark Sheets. If you are novice, I think it is a given you are going travel down the anal highway of love in the blackness of night, (or wee hours of the morning after an evening of Patron shooters). The dark sheets, however, I never considered and the implication attached startles me, (plus I don't own "dark sheets").

3---Freddy Goes to Hollywood. Name of the game is to relax baby. I'm thinking that is easier said than done and damn near impossible without the crutch of alcohol or narcotics. But from what I gather from this article, (and testimonials), if the balloon knot ain't relaxed, no one is coming out a winner.

While these tips aren't exactly surprising, they do lay a foundation. What interested me more were the "dos and don'ts" with me leaning towards more of the "don'ts". Let's see how many of these rules I can follow and then possibly break.

Anal Sex Dos and Don'ts:

1---Don't Do It if She's Pregnant. Great---not only do you have to give up drinking and smoking while pregnant you have to shelve anal sex too. The reason? Well hemorrhoids for starters. Yeah, I get that one totally. An itchy asshole is an unhappy asshole. Then there is the risk of spreading bacteria to the vag. I would also like to mention banging your pregnant wife up the ass may make her feel less attractive too---

2---Don't Use Numbing Cream in Place of Lube. After penning 2 posts about anal sex I'm just about to ingest some numbing cream. The reason is if you can't feel any "pain" you may not know when enough is enough. Well what the fuck---if pain is good in the gym it's good enough for the ass in my opinion.

3---Let Her Set the Pace. Quite simply it's her ass it's her show.

4---Don't Penetrate Anywhere Else. I think the reason is quite clear but in case you are lost, let me break it down for you. It is a poop chute folks and if there is any fudge on the sicle, it could make your lady sick. And while porn stars are infamous for reinsertion remember they are professionals.

As pointed out in both articles, if you aren't 100% monogamous, use fucking protection. While it is a proven fact you can't get pregnant from anal sex, you can contract all kinds of other stuff. It should also be pointed out that anal sex isn't exactly condoned by health professionals---years of "in through the out door" can cause tearing, bleeding, etc. which all sound like a lot of fun. But as I have said many times before to each their own. And for every person I spoke to that said their husband's cocks were too big to even consider such an adventure, I heard that ass-tastic sex resulted in the best orgasms ever experienced. It all comes down to preference and choice---kinda like regular vs. diet soda; McDonalds vs. Burger King; and dark vs. milk chocolate. Okay maybe a chocolate reference wasn't the best example....

Sources: http://www.askmen.com/dating/love_tip_500/548_anal-sex-prep-guide.html and http://www.askmen.com/dating/love_tip_500/534_anal-sex-dos-donts.html

Exit Only (Part 1 or is it Technically Part 2?)

2011-03-15T11:01:00.000-05:00

In the 3 1/2 years I have been penning this blog, I have never devoted an entire post to anal sex---that is until now. Many of you are probably grateful I have neglected sphincter love and if that's the case, close this post out and I'll see you in a few days....

I'll be the first to admit it's not the most enticing thing to write about---oh who am I kidding, ass sex is gross. Even the people who in engage in it will admit it's gross if they were to think about it sober and for longer than 60 seconds. Yet heterosexuals are jumping aboard the caboose in growing numbers, (right around 34%). Granted, the younger generation makes up a chunk of this statistic, (seems they are under the impression anal sex isn't "real" sex). Look, a dick is going into an orifice and ejaculation is happening, so that my friends is sex in my book.

If you are still reading this post in hopes I am going to publicly admit whether I have gotten it "in through the out door" I'm sorry to disappoint---not going to tell you. First of all it's none of your fucking business. If I didn't know any of you on a social, "I know what you look like" basis I still wouldn't tell you. With that said, however, I hope you can trust me enough to know I just don't write about sex without "some" knowledge. Now that could be actual knowledge or knowledge shared by fellow deviants or outstanding sources like Askmen.com.

I think the first issue at hand is the why---why in the name of god would I or any woman for that matter want to have a dick shoved up my ass? Equally important to ask is why would a dude want to shove his dick in a hole who's sole purpose is to expel crap? Fair questions if you ask me. I would love to ask a high school girl/guy these very questions because when I was in high school, this type of "play" never even entered my realm of thinking. I couldn't quite wrap my mind around putting a dude's cock in my mouth---I mean really, what's in it for me? Of course you learn very quickly how powerful giving a blow job can be. But I digress....let's get back to the why of ass sex.

Physically there is not a good reason to do it---the likelihood your dude is going to be left with shit on his stick is fair to good. And then there is the lady who is going to experience the sensation of putting a square peg through a round hole, (although that's not really what's happening, but that's how it's going to feel). Sounds all kinds of awesome too me. ~~Butt~~ But people are somehow getting past these sound arguments and plowing forward and I think we all know the reason...it's taboo, it feels good and no one wants to admit it.

When I have written about this topic briefly, I've alluded to 2 things. (1) Anal sex is an urban legend among married couples/partners---they do it and never discuss it; and (2) alcohol is a must. I want to suggest one other thing---married people get bored in the bedroom and boredom leads to either cheating, porn, or finding a way to recreate what was once exciting. Okay, I can hear the collective boo's coming through the computer. But if back door loving is happening in su casa, it ain't the husband who made it happen---it was green lighted by the little lady. That's not to say the men haven't tried on their own once---a little doggie style intercourse turns into "I wonder what will happen if I try...." which is met with "do that again and I will fucking cut your dick off...."

The way I see it, there are only 2 sides to this debate; pro-anal and no fucking way. And while the "no fucking way" opinion is largely held by women, I suspect there are some gents out there who feel the same way. "You want me to put my dick where you shit? No way, bitch." Alas, I bet that opinion is few and far between. And while my job isn't to sway you one way or another, I can provide you some guidance and pertinent information regarding poop chute sex. Interested? Then come find me tomorrow for part "2"..I'll leave the back door open, (I'm killing myself).

Lick Your Lips and Pucker Up

2011-03-13T09:01:00.003-05:00

What is one to do when battling a case of strep throat while both her children battle the same case of strep throat? Stream shows via Netflix. With Matt working a ton of overtime this past week and weekend, I have resorted to laying on the couch with my laptop while Emma dominates the TV remote and Jack plays on the computer. I am not particularly proud of such arrangement but it is what it is. Perhaps most troubling is I have exhausted my movie instant que as well as recent TV series released on DVD leaving me little choice than to go into the "vault" and find something I haven't seen. Challenging to say the least but by god I found a series circa 1999---the WBs, (now known as the CW), "Roswell".

It truly is a perfect fit for me---a little sci-fi alien action all rolled up in a teenage melodrama. Seeing that I still long for the days of Dawson's Creek, Roswell fits the void perfectly. For those unfamiliar, (and I'm guessing that's all of you), the premise involves 3 "alien" teens who look human. Their "origins" are unknown but we do know they crashed in 1957 but didn't emerge from their "pods" until the early 80s. Two happen to be brother and sister, (the sister played by Katherine Heigel---from Grey's Anatomy and Knocked Up fame) while the other is the "misfit" yet lovable alien with spiked hair. Their alien secret is revealed to a small group when Max, the shy, introspective alien, saves Liz from a gunshot wound. And as you can surmise by the name of the show, it all takes place in Roswell, New Mexico---I mean what would a show be without a little irony?

As you can imagine, Max and Liz are drawn to each other but agree getting "romantically involved" could be detrimental. Detrimental? What is detrimental is all the scenes where you guys almost kiss and don't. Do you know what that does to a feverish 39 year old? But alas it finally happened---9 episodes into the 1st season, (sorry if I ruined it for any of you). The kiss was just as it should be---hesitant, sweet, soft and polished off with a blow job. Oh wait, that happened in the porno version called "Ros-swell".

The older we get, I think we lose sight of the power behind a kiss. While I'm all for a nice solid "R" rated movie involving humping, I long for the days when a kiss could create a nice pool of wetness without involving a finger, dick or toy. I'm not saying that doesn't happen anymore---on the contrary. But what I am saying is after being with someone for a long time, kissing always leads to more---not a bad thing, but I will admit I sometimes miss the simplicity of just kissing.

I don't know if guys remember a good kiss but women sure as hell do, (well women tend to remember everything). When I review my past kisses, only a handful of "bad" ones spring to mind, (too much tongue, too much spit, too much you suck). Then there are some that don't even stir a memory which in my book are worse than the bad ones. But what makes a kiss memorable? Well for me its the feeling that your heart is going to beat out of your fucking chest and the tentative way both parties tilt their heads. And you get so wrapped up in the moment you don't have time to think about the possibility of screwing it up---you just take a leap of faith your lips will part just right and your tongue will find a way to casually slide in. Then everything goes blank for a second....

(sigh) Sorry, my mind just went blank for 5 minutes. The funny thing about the scenario I just painted is that's not how my memorable kisses went down exactly---I didn't quite wait on my gentleman to make the first move, (remember, patience is not one of my stronger attributes). When I was with Tate, I remember pointing out the window of where I lived and while he looked up I stood on my tip toes and planted one square on his mouth. As for my Matt...when he gave me hug good night and didn't make a move to kiss me I asked him point blank, "Are you going to kiss me or what?" which was met with a shove against the wall. In both cases, these boys were a little slow on the draw for my taste, but I quickly learned appreciated my efforts, (in the form of nice hard boners).

When I hear my married friends lament about a lagging sex life I often wonder if a lack of "kissing" isn't the culprit. I mean we all go through dry spells, stress and bouts of "I'm too tired", but sometimes recapturing how it all began is all it takes. And if you do it right resulting in wet panties and a boner there's just only one thing left to do then---put on the show Roswell.

Give Me Some "Moxi" Bitch

2011-03-11T10:57:00.000-06:00

You know it's bad when you walk through the doors at a Convenient Care Clinic and see a dude wearing a surgical mask. It truly makes one question the sanity of entering this hallowed ground of express medicine to be faced with a plethora of disease ridden patients all with the same thought---it has got to be quicker to get a script at "the clinic" than making a fucking appointment with my primary care physician. And while "the clinic" clearly indicates, in writing, they will care for "minor illnesses", I feel if you're rocking a surgical mask, you need to forgo the speed and go see a doctor actually wearing a white lab coat.

As I was waiting for my name to be called to "register" I watched a woman, (who I later learned was a "Patient Advocate"), re-arrange and straightened the magazine racks. Seriously sister, you have a dude with a surgical mask on, a kid two seconds away from entering some kind of coma and a cluster fuck of old people waiting to be seen---fuck the outdated copies of "Parenting" and "Golf" and start generating some charts. And what is with the title "Patient Advocate"? What exactly are you advocating? It sure as shit ain't speediness.

The dude's name ahead of me on the sign-in sheet was "Topper" which had to be some kind of alias because at best, that's a name for some one's dog. Turns out "Topper" was the dude rocking the surgical mask who thankfully was escorted to some far away cubicle never to be seen again. "Kathy" was my Patient Advocate who registered me and confirmed I was still residing at the same address and had the same phone number. And after making the leap I was Irish, (based upon my last name), proceeded to shoot the shit about corned beef, potatoes and how her family only likes her to make a little cabbage. Fascinating Kathy---could we skip the fucking small talk and just give me the code to that awesome machine in the corner that dispenses meds so I can just self-prescribe some Amoxicillan?

After my Irish Soda Bread chat with Kathy had concluded, I went back to the waiting area where I bumped into one of my Boulevard neighbors. I was unaware we had an event at "the clinic" this morning, but I was down for a beer while waiting. Turns out she had twisted her ankle yesterday and thought to have it checked out before leaving on her vacation to California tomorrow. Yeah, I hope that trip wasn't scheduled for the coastal region.

There was something surreal about being surrounded by sick people and watching highlights of the chaos in Japan. Everyone had an opinion, of course, and watched with baited breath to see if a "wave" would come crashing down on the entire state of California. Even the "Patient Advocates" would pause mid-registration to see the latest updates which was completely unacceptable in my opinion. Unless a 12 foot wave was coming in the front door, keep your eyes on your computer monitors and fingers glued to your keyboards. Do you not see the dude with the surgical mask on? And in case you are concerned, my throat feels like it's on F--IRE.

Thankfully I didn't I have to wait too long and was greeted by another "non-nurse" person who asked me a million questions including if I felt physically and mentally safe in my home. I wanted to say it is a crap shoot on some days but knew better. It's the alcohol question that always causes me to stammer a bit. I always answer I drink in moderation which is followed up by, "Would you say you have 2-3 drinks a day?" "Well doesn't everybody?" Of course I always laugh it off and say, "No, 2-3 drinks a week" which happens to be true this week because my throat is on F--IRE.

After determining I didn't have a substance abuse problem and Matt doesn't smack me around unless I specifically ask him, my blood pressure and pulse were taken. It was then I was complimented on my nail color which prompted me to tell "non-nurse" I had a no chip manicure done over a week ago. Well like 2 bitches at the salon, we talked about the pros and cons of such a treatment.

The doctor I had today I've had before---he looks exactly like Jimmy Kimmel. The last time I saw him he blew a huge chunk of ear wax out of my ear. I know, disgusting. But let me tell you something, I was fucking deaf for 2 days until I went to "the clinic" and asked them if my ear drum had been punctured or something. That's when I learned I had a ball of ear wax in there the size of marble. I personally think it should have been submitted to the Smithsonian.

So Jimmy Kimmel walks in, checks my throat and says "I'm going to give you Amoxicillan whether you take the strep test or not so what do you want to do?" My man---advocating self-diagnosis. As you can surmise, I said "pass" to the test and got hooked up with some Moxi---2 pills a day for the next 10 days.

Here's the thing about Amoxicillan---the shit should be available over the counter. It cures everything and should be in one's personal arsenal at all times. I'm sure those medically trained would argue self-medicating is not encouraged and there is a good chance people could build up an immunity to Moxi. You know what I say? Bullshit. Moxi hasn't changed in the 30+ years I've taken it---it still comes in that thick, pink form for kids and the giant horse pill form for adults. And may I be frank? If we can obtain a "morning after pill" over the counter, then by god, let Moxi be enjoyed by the masses.

My morning concluded with a visit to the automated pill dispensing machine to fill my script. I know---this machine has taken jobs away from people. I appreciate that and feel bad, but convenience is always going to win out in medical situations. As for my neighbor, she was registering with her Patient Advocate so god only knows when she'll make it through the system. As for "Topper" he was no where to be seen---I'm guessing he was escorted to the bowels of "the clinic" for his examination.

Plain or Sugar Cone?

2011-03-10T11:41:00.000-06:00

I am not a fan of ice cream. There I said it. I'm not sure what that says about me but it is what it is. I mean I'll eat it once in awhile, but it does nothing to satisfy a sugar craving, (I would rather eat the waffle cone plain). Even when presented with 31 flavors and then some, I would gladly chose a bowl full of marshmallow and caramel topping foregoing the ice cream entirely. What can I say? I'm weird. And speaking of weird, (in an eclectic, money making sorta way), Lady Gagy is all kinds of pissed at an ice cream parlor for using her name and "likeness" to promote their latest line of cream---a treat from the tit if you will. Breast milk ice cream.

The thought of consuming a stranger's boob juice makes me nauseous. As you can probably gather from my OCD tendencies, breast feeding wasn't one of my favored activities. I understood all the benefits, accepted the responsibility, but admittedly had to force myself not to think about what I was doing exactly. I apologize to all those women out there who embrace the beauty behind breast feeding---I don't mean to offend, I just never reached a level of comfort with it. But even those that let their tits fly in the wind with a baby latched on have to admit that consuming a product made out of breast milk, even your own, is gross, right? If not, close out this blog post because you probably won't like what I have to say.

The geniuses behind breast milk ice cream are from London and own a creamery called Icecreamist. The boob juice was supplied by volunteers "who are registered blood donors" and the liquid gold is pasteurized and mixed with "vanilla bean and lemon zest." I guess if you aren't turned off by the origin of the ice cream, perhaps the cost will turn your stomach---$23 a cup. The presentation isn't in an ordinary styrofoam cup, however, this scoop ala breast is presented in a Martini glass topped off with liquid nitrogen, (of course), and a teething biscuit. And what do they call this masterpiece? The Baby Gaga. Now enter in one out of joint Lady Gaga.

In a statement, Lady Gaga asked that her named be removed immediately from the nipple treat citing:

“The references you are making to Lady Gaga are clearly deliberate and intended to take advantage of her reputation and good will.” “Associating the Lady Gaga mark with a food product which may be unsafe for human consumption (owing to the risk of it carrying such viruses as hepatitis) is also highly detrimental.”

How now brown cow, this sweet treat has been tested thoroughly by the British equivalent of the FDA and deemed safe, (gross, but safe). Furthermore, Lady G., the owners of Icecreamist believe you need to question your own level of originality and questionable promotion tactics, (take that kitty):

"For Lady Gaga to accuse us of stealing her image is laughable when you consider how much she has borrowed from popular culture to create her look and music. She also seems to have forgotten that since the dawn of time the word gaga has been one of the first discernible phrases to come from a baby’s mouth. This is why we chose the name… As for her assertion that our product is distasteful, perhaps she should reflect on her blood-spurting performance at the MTV Video Music Awards.”

Holy shit! In the midst of "naming rights" I think everyone has lost sight of the real issue---consuming boob juice via a fucking spoon! I mean to each their own but I got to say no to this one. Now if you were to offer me a frozen spunk pop I just might take a lick....

Source: http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-lady-gaga-sues-over-breast-milk-ice-cream/

Boning a Bosch

2011-03-08T12:44:00.000-06:00

I don't see what all the fuss is about. If I was forking over $49,791 for one year at Northwestern University you bet your ass I would expect some sort of live sex show disguised as higher learning for my son or daughter. Sure, I tend to sway towards the more deviant side of life but let's be honest, much of what we studied in college to earn a degree we have never once used in practical application. At least with a better understanding of the female anatomy, a man, (or woman), could leave with a diploma in one hand and the ability to rock the fuck out of clitoris in the other. Sounds like a win too me. High fives all around.

There were only 2 things that struck me odd about "Sex Gate" at Northwestern---the first being that it happened on the campus of Northwestern. I'm not sure where something like this should have taken place; I'm thinking more of a state school---a Southern Illinois or Iowa State where half the student body is intoxicated anyway, (not that there's anything wrong with that). Now where students could have benefited from a lecture like this is Wheaton College or my Alma Mater Millikin University, (some of those boys from downstate aren't too bright when it comes to female anatomy).

I actually lived in Evanston, home to Northwestern, for a few years and really loved it. The campus is impressive with a nice mixture of cathedral type buildings intermixed with sleek and modern designs. The population is diverse but as you can imagine, those attending can either afford the outrageous tuition or smart enough to acquire some substantial scholarships. So the idea of some chick spread eagle on a stage all in the name of human sexuality does seem a little peculiar but completely awesome at the same time. I mean can you imagine skimming that syllabus at the beginning of the semester? Chapters 1-10; Chapters 11-16; Paper; Mid-Term; Girl Getting Fucked by a Homemade Dildo; Final.

As for the second "thing", it was in regards to the presenter and performers at the lecture. The presenter was "Ken Melvoin-Berg, co-owner of Weird Chicago Tours". Let's stop there for a moment. What in the fuck is Weird Chicago Tours and what does that have to do with bondage and sexual fetishes? Well after doing a Google Search I found out that Mr. Melvoin-Berg is a "Chicago-area psychic, detective, author, lecturer and ghost hunter." As for the sex shit? No clue unless perhaps a ghost happens to be fucking among the living. But what Melvoin-Berg did bring to the "table" was "video footage of a woman who was having an orgasm, but when it was deemed unrealistic, the idea of a live sex act was introduced." Well no shit---this guy is a ghost hunter, not a clit hunter so it only seems logical that Professor Bailey bring in some real talent.

I don't know about you, but I'm all for bringing in some real life examples to demonstrate a point so god bless Faith Kroll and her fiance Jim Marcus for stepping up and agreeing to simulate sex using a converted power saw tool with a "phallic" tip. While the press reported on the outrage from parents/community about the act itself, I profess outrage that this woman was jack knifed by some kind of Bosch tool that was once designed to SAW A FUCKING PIECE OF WOOD. Does no one else think this is completely fucked? I will be the first to admit my vagina is picky about what gets inserted, but this contraption looks beyond insane. I mean there is DIY and then there's "NYD", (No You Didn't).

It remains to be seen if Professor Bailey will be booted off of campus or not but he remains steadfast he did nothing wrong, (although he admits he wouldn't be doing it again). While I'm sure that's true, something tells me he just might forge a life long friendship with Ken Melvoin-Berg and get his freak on with the supernatural and everything in between.

Implosion of the Male Kind

2011-03-07T11:00:00.000-06:00

The male species took all sorts of hits last week with notable quotes and antics from Charlie Sheen, Mike Huckabee and the ever immortal Muammar Gaddhafi. To insinuate the entire male population was unjustly served by these asshats is an exaggeration admittedly, but what more could a news cycle want then three dudes making an ass out of themselves, (although in Muammar's case, he's more of a tyrant but an entertaining one at that). Of course the ladies aren't exempt from asshat behavior either---Lindsay Lohan's recent antics come to mind, but last week belonged to the gents---a trifecta of incredible quotes and actions that begged the question, "where are their handlers?" And just when I thought "Larry, Moe and Curly" were enough fodder for this writer, my friend Peppermint dropped a juicy tidbit into my lap this morning---a picture of Chris Brown's wank was leaked by a lady friend. Well asshat #4 that's what you get when you take a fucking picture of your dong and send it via the internet highway. But we'll get back to Brown's unit momentarily, (and what a unit it is, trust me). Let's start with Asshat #1---Mr. Charlie Sheen.

#1 Winning:

Believe it or not, I have mixed feelings making light of Charlie's escapades---clearly the dude ain't well. Whether he's bi-polar or not remains to be seen and while not a doctor, (I just play one at home), I am betting some form of mental illness is fueling his apparent mania. But with that said, he certainly has a "way" with the words. Take the word "winning"---it has certainly inspired a nation to sit up, take notice and I guess go win. Then there was the proclamation of being "extremely old-fashioned, a nobleman and chivalrous" which made me yearn for Charlie to mount a horse and go jousting. And instead of slaying a dragon, Charlie seems to understand that he too has limitations and has chose to "defeat this earthworm with [his] words" but just imagine "what [he] would have done with [his] fire breathing fists." Roasting a marshmallow comes to mind, but perhaps that's my own mania talking. Bottom line? People love to watch a good car crash or in this case, a mental implosion. Doesn't say too much for our species in general, but how can we help but not gravitate towards a man who believes "every great movement begins with one man." And that one man is evidently Charlie "Winning" Sheen.

#2 Knocked Up & Not Oscar Worthy:

I would like to propose the following: politicians should cease trying to be our moral compass. It's an unnecessary burden and one that is going to back fire big time. My idea of "family values" is never going to fit within a traditional definition and I challenge anyone to make it happen. Mick Huckabee should have taken a moment before wagging his finger at Ms. Portman's out of wedlock pregnancy and just turned off the Oscars and poured himself a scotch. Instead he chose to issue the following statement:

"Most single moms are very poor, uneducated, can't get a job, and if it weren't for government assistance, their kids would be starving to death and never have health care. And that's the story that we're not seeing, and it's unfortunate that we glorify and glamourise the idea of out-of-children wedlock."

Interesting. I wonder if he shot off a similar message to Bristol Palin upon the announcement of her out of wedlock, teenage pregnancy, (of course accompanied by a nice fruit basket). Well asshat, if you are going to smack Hollywood's hand for bestowing a prize to Ms. Portman, (one in which she earned while not preggers), perhaps you should smack Bristol Palin on the hand for whoring herself out on Dancing With the Stars. Better yet, why not address some of your concern to the baby daddy's---last I heard, it takes a sperm and an egg to make a baby.

#3 Gaddafi Duck: How We Have Missed Thee:

Talk about a blast from the past---Muammar is back and nutty as ever. Much like Sheen, however, it is hard to make light of how insane he is when his country is on the verge of civil war. But it's Gaddafi who was quoted as saying, "these resentments, they are the rocket fuel that lives in the tip of my sabre." Well if that doesn't have a kinky undertone, I don't know what does. I think what amuses me the most about this crazy ass dictator is his own translators don't even know how to translate Gaddafi Duck speak---you know you have some degree of crazy on your hands when the English language doesn't have words remotely close to what you are saying. But it does take some balls to say you are like the Queen of England---it's true Muammar, you certainly can rock a hat.

#4 Yeah 3X:

I am proud to bring you yet another cock shot seen around the world. It pleases me even more to say Chris Brown's penis is easily 3Xs the size of Brett Favre's---it just keeps going and going and going. Made famous for slapping the shit out of Rihanna two years back, Chris has since done a little community service, some soulful introspection and evidently a self-portrait of his wank via a bathroom mirror. Why Chris thought his lady friend would keep this on the low is beyond me because let's face it, nothing is considered sacred anymore. We have bi-polar mania running rampant through the countryside, pregnant, out of wedlock celebrities and dictators who can't even be translated. So I guess what's the harm in a little, well in Chris Browns case a lotta dick hitting the world wide web?

Word to Your Mutha

2011-03-03T11:24:00.000-06:00

I am starting to appreciate how difficult the English language is (and that's with it being my native language). Not a day goes by where we aren't introduced to a new word, albeit a slang word, but a new word or phrase none the less. Take my obsession with the phrase "balloon knot"---I don't even use it as a noun but as an adjective to describe a person, (or persons). Grammatically it doesn't make sense but that's the beauty of English in the 21st century...it doesn't have to. Take the word "crunk"---a combination of the words "crazy" and "drunk". Spell check doesn't recognize it so that must mean it's cutting edge and let's be honest, sometimes the words "crazy" and "drunk" don't do a person justice---take Charlie Sheen for example.

Where my "respect" for the English language deteriorates is when Webster Dictionary gets involved and starts making words "legit". For example,"ew", (used to express disgust or displeasure) and "textative", (using ample texts to get a point across; enthusiastic text messaging). Then there are words like "Belieber", (a devoted fan of pop singer Justin Bieber) and "blizzaster", (a powerful blizzard), that really shouldn't be defined at all. One could argue the English language has been dumbed down, but as we use IM and social networking more and more, we need to get our point across fast---even if don't have a point. I would argue, however, that some of the newly invented words are born out of a creative process and who are we to judge the legitimacy. It is an interesting dynamic---when you take away a person's "face" from the act of communicating all you're left with are words so it is of the utmost importance to chose a word, (or make one up), to depict your eye brows raised or your eyes rolling. So what if a 3 year old would balk at the idea of using it; all bets are off for being grammatically correct or making any sense once you hit age 10.

While my loyalty resides with the all encompassing "swear word", I find myself gravitating towards those words/phrases that challenge the conventional definition of sex. Why limit yourself to words like "fucking", "screwing" and the ever dreaded "making love" when there is a plethora of alternatives at your finger tips. And of course you don't have to go far to find the grand-daddy of "alternative definitions"---you just need to type the words "Urban Dictionary" into your web browser and you are off to the dirty races.

It's been awhile since I've written about Urban Dictionary or alternative meanings for sex. Admittedly, some of the words and their accompanying definitions can be a bit nauseating, but when you are rocking a 13 year old boy mentality, the bile rising in one's throat can be stifled and replaced with a laugh. AskMen.com came up with a list of "Sex Terms You Don't Dare Ask About." Well guess what? I'm not only asking, but I'm sharing. Sadly, some of the terms I already knew---

1---Snowballing. While I, just like the next guy, like to pelmet those less fortunate with snowballs, (both literally and figuratively), the "act" of snowballing is when "a woman goes down on a man, he ejaculates into her mouth and then she spits it back into his mouth while kissing." Sure beats swallowing in my book but don't be surprised if your dude connects his fist with your jaw.

2---Cream Pie. Pie just isn't the same without a little dab of cream. In the world of the truly unseedy, a cream pie is "when a man ejaculates inside a woman’s vagina or anus without using a condom. This internal cumshot is usually followed by watching the semen drip out of her." May I suggest doing this in Boston to make it pseudo official?

3---Daisy Chain. Leave it to the sexual deviants to fuck up the innocence of the word "daisy. A daisy chain is "a group of more than two sexual partners, stimulating each other at the same time. While Partner A performs oral sex on Partner B, Partner B performs oral sex on Partner C, who performs oral sex on Partner D and so on, ultimately resulting in a chain where the last partner is pleasing the first partner." I wonder if chips and dip are provided?

4---ATM. While my initial thought was sex while withdrawing money I was quickly put in my place. ATM refers to "the act of anally penetrating a woman and then putting [his] penis in her mouth." I would personally present that person with an overdraft slip.

5---Bukkake. This just sounds bad too me but leave it to the Japanese to come up with a word to describe "several men masturbating and then ejaculating all over a woman." Oh and to be clear, this awesome act can involve just a "few" men or "hundreds" of men. Nice to know the Japanese don't believe in limits.

Source: http://www.askmen.com/dating/love_tip_400/456b_sex-terms-you-dont-dare-ask-about.html

Will Write for Food

2011-02-28T11:44:00.000-06:00

The question/statement was straightforward enough: "Sarah, I prefer your blog, but I want your opinion on her idea of blogging incl "plugging" products into her work etc. She bring in about 30K a month from ads on her blog." The "her" my friend was referencing is Heather Armstrong, recently crowned "Queen of the Mommy Bloggers" by The New York Times---a distinction that even I find kinda incredible. After said question/statement was posted on my FB wall, my friend "A" responded by saying, "I just read the same article this morning. Dooce is known to be kind of a bitch in the blogosphere. Sarah could kick her ex-Mormon ass." Wow...in 2 very short seconds I was told my blog is preferred over the "Queen of Mommy Blogs" and that I could kick this woman's ass who just happens to be an ex-Mormon. How could I possibly walk away from such a stellar blog topic dropped directly into my lap.

For those interested, here is the link to The New York Times Article, http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/27/magazine/27armstrong-t.html?pagewanted=5&_r=3&ref=todayspaper&adxnnlx=1298894572-cQKP/15rZadq5rdj6ThBJw. Keep in mind, it's The New York Times so settle in for an in depth "read". Heather Armstrong's "story" isn't all that unique---mother of 2 who writes about the trials and tribulations of marriage and motherhood. Of course when you factor in her struggles with depression and the whole "ex-Mormon" thing, the reader is left with some interesting dialog. But as pointed out by the article, this isn't what makes Ms. Armstrong unique; what makes her unique is how she's been able to cash in on her posts by carefully placed product endorsements. Remember the scene from Wayne's World where Mike Meyers poked fun at the idea of product placement within a movie? Well Ms. Armstrong as done the exact same thing but virtually. Cha-ching.

As any blogger will tell you, there is an option called "Ad Sense" that can be added to one's layout. Ad Sense will place "ads" based on the content of your blog and for every ad that is clicked upon, the author will receive 1 to 2 cents depending on the ad. When I first started blogging I did set up my page for Ad Sense but quickly changed my mind, (and boy am I glad seeing how my topics have gravitated towards sex---can you just imagine the ads that would pop up?). Aside from not doing back flips over earning a penny for every ad clicked, I was afraid readers would be turned off at the idea of trying to turn a profit from mediocre writing. Even Ms. Armstrong concedes that one of the "down sides" to endorsements is losing a degree of trust from your readers---I mean are you writing about appliances to be funny/make a point or just trying to score one for yourself? With that said, I do know some bloggers that utilize Ad Sense and it doesn't make a difference to me---it's the caliber of writing that keeps me coming back.

You can't dispute the success of Dooce.com, (Dooce was a pseudonym derived from Armstrong's inability to spell the word "dude" quickly when chatting with co-workers on IM---yeah I don't really get it either)---Armstrong averages 100,000 visitors a day---I average anywhere from 100-250, (unless I happen to post a picture of Brett Favre's wank then we are talking in the 1000s) and her "reviews" are solid as a satirist, (I probably should mention I have only scanned her site so it wouldn't be fair for me to give an opinion on her writing). But the question posed to me wasn't about her writing but how I felt about her ability to generate income through product "placement" and "review". Well in a word...savvy.

I think what differentiates one blog from another is its element of surprise. I think one of my strengths, (and unfortunately it's not the actual writing), is the unpredictability. Even if you have pegged me as the wanna be sex writer, I do try to weave in some "real life" into my "perceived one". Even when I step away and write about my own trials and tribulations with autism I try to write it in a way that even those with neurotypical children can relate. The bloggers I admire the most though are the ones who tend to stay with one topic yet find a way to present it in a new and fresh way each time they post---that ain't easy. My approach is far less challenging---I switch shit up constantly which I chose to blame on my adult A.D.D.

I don't fault Ms. Armstrong one bit for making a dime, (or a million in her case), on product endorsements. It is not only savvy, but it allows her an opportunity to be paid for something she loves---any writer's dream. And seeing her readership has remained steadfast throughout the years, she must be balancing it all quite nicely. If I were given the same opportunity I would gladly take it although my endorsements would probably be skewed more to the sarcastic side which would probably result in a lawsuit or two. One point Armstrong made which I agree with entirely is deciding early on that whatever the topic you chose to write about, you should be able to discuss it in person and if you can't do that, you probably shouldn't be writing about it. I think that's a fair assessment, (and in my case, really fucking scary). But ultimately, your readers are smart enough to figure out why you are doing this and if you aren't doing it to entertain the masses, whether big or small, then you shouldn't be doing it, period. I completely stand behind that statement but I would gladly accept a new MacBook Pro or iPad in exchange for placing a big ass "Apple" logo on my blog page. Reaching too high? Perhaps. How about a life time supply of Diet Coke, Cheez Its and Triscuits instead.

Just a Small Piece, Please. Oh Screw it---GIve Me the Whole Damn Thing

2011-02-27T08:42:00.000-06:00

As February thankfully comes to a close, I wonder how many people have maintained their "healthy lifestyle" resolution for 2011. I'm going to say 50% which is highly optimistic of me but people are vain and the older they get the more driven they are to stop being a fat ass, (including this senorita). I don't think I have to tell you that eating healthy and exercising diligently is tiresome even if you enjoy the endorphin buzz. I find myself negotiating almost daily including weighing the pros and cons of keeping up my running regiment and enjoying a beer(s) at the end of the day. I also find myself salivating over the menu I choose for dinner seeing I don't eat carbs for breakfast or lunch anymore. There is no question my pseudo carb-free lifestyle is impacting my brain function and mood but seeing I'm still confined to the house due to the cold temperatures, I might as well tone up, (and hope my reasoning skills return upon the Spring thaw).

While any (in)sane person will tell you, the best way to lose weight is adopting the high stress diet. While you may ultimately be left emaciated, you still can pat yourself on the back for getting into a size you once only dreamed about. As you can imagine, however, most doctors, (except those residing in 3rd world countries), tend to frown down on this weight loss plan. Everybody has to be critic. When I adopted the high stress diet a few years back I couldn't believe the variety of clothes I was able to wear and how tight a belt really could be drawn around one's waist. Granted I was a hot mess mentally, but if you have to be stressed, you might as well look fucking good.

Most healthy life style experts have specific guidelines for you, the unhealthy person in waiting, to adopt. I personally don't like the title of "expert" because no one has yet bestowed the title of "expert" upon me so it is very hard to find an ounce of humility and actually listen to someone other than myself. But in the spirit of reigning in my rolls of fat, I will at least pretend to entertain some their ideas.

1---Kick Your Heavily Processed Staples to the Curb. When evaluating your pantry, the 2 items you need to get rid of immediately are soda and corn oil. I don't know who these people are---after a hard day of work, I immediately reach for the soda and corn oil and enjoy them over ice. Then there are the "whites" that have to go which sound completely racists too me, but in this case, the reference is to white flour and pasta to be replaced by whole grain.

2---Shop the Perimeter Like a Covert Mission. Evidently the healthy shit is always located on the perimeter of the grocery store. If you delve into the middle you are likely to be seduced by high fructose corn syrup, transfats and sugar---that's one vortex I would love to be sucked into.

3---Be Literate. The only way to know what you are consuming is to read the labels---like I want to do that. It's a good bet that if the label reads like a thesaurus, said product isn't good for you, (but probably tastes fantastic). I truly think the FDA should have labels that read "Fattening", "Really Fattening" and "Lord Have Mercy You are a Fat Ass".

4---You Will Eat This, Damn It. The key to eating healthier is "re-training your taste buds." In other words---you will eat brown rice even if it has the consistency of saw dust. It's not always an easy transition, however. My taste buds have been known to walk the picket line and can be very hard to negotiate with---even harder than terrorists.

5----Hello 80, I'm 20. Compromise is the key for any situation, (unless you are like me and tend to tell compromise to fuck off). Nutritionist suggest adopting the 80-20 rule to bridge the gap of healthy versus non-healthy choices---80% of your choices should be healthy whereas 20% is your "party like a rock star" hall pass. As you can probably surmise, I have mastered the 20% beautifully.

But like any lazy and completely unmotivated person will tell you, there is always
"something" out there to disprove the idea that exercise and healthy eating are the only way to go to lose weight. In this case, that something is a "turbocell bulge-busting legging." I'm not exactly sure what all that means, but for the bargain price of $149, these pants will "melt away cellulite when worn eight hours a day for eight weeks." Holy shit, miracles actually do happen. Tell me more....

"The three layers of cotton, latex, and spandex micro-massage your thighs while upping your body temperature and circulation to promote fluid drainage."

I don't know about you, but my inner thighs just broke out into a sweat. $149 is a little steep for me to actually commit myself to this 8 week regiment, but I would be curious to know if one would actually see results---results that didn't include a colossal yeast infection and the worst tuna stench known to man. Although that peanut butter and fluff sandwich made on white bread may go down without any repercussions.

Sources: http://www.prevention.com/eatclean/list/8.shtml and http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-would-you-wear-weight-loss-leggings/

Didn't We Just Have Sex?

2011-02-24T18:27:00.000-06:00

Why does having sex need to benefit anything other than getting off? I keep finding these articles addressing why sex is beneficial especially for women. Even more interesting are these articles are addressing a much younger demographic than the one I presently represent. I just can't wrap my small mind around the idea single women in their 20s and early 30s need a reason aside from an orgasm to have sex. But before I share a list of these "reasons", let's talk to a demographic that may just be in need of a pep talk---married women in there late to early 40s, (that would be me).

I have been with the same dick, as in penis, now for almost 20 years. Same girth, same length, same degree of hardness for 20 fucking years. I'm not complaining---it is a very nice, disease free dick that has made my existence climatic. And it would be irresponsible of me to say Matt's dick has maintained the longevity of our relationship---well he would be pleased if I said that but it would be a lie. If you don't have a well rounded relationship that includes humor, some amount of intellect and access to booze, you don't stand a chance, even if the sex is outstanding. But as any married couple will attest, the honeymoon period is just that and all its charms are quickly replaced by a lot of shit otherwise known as life.

Despite having an above average sex life, there are moments where panic sets in when we hit a lull---it happens people. One night of no sex turns into two nights and before you know it your scrambling to a calendar to find out exactly when the last time you had intercourse. And I will fully admit if there is a lack of intercourse I am to blame---Matt would gladly screw any hour of the day. If this sounds all too familiar don't feel bad, be grateful you aren't alone. If this doesn't sound like you then you are full of shit.

So why should women my age be having sex besides wanting to achieve an orgasm, (and to reconnect with our husbands, of course)? For starters having sex will make us look younger. Well duh, have you seen me lately? I look at least 35. There is also evidence that our immune systems are healthier and we live longer if we screw giving the phrase "he love me long time" an entirely new meaning. Do I believe any of this. Uh no. If anything it's a draw because there are days I think Matt takes years off my life when he leaves his fucking shoes scattered everywhere and I find crumpled Kleenex on the floor beside our bed, (and no, I have no idea if it contains snot or spunk).

As any married couple will tell you, there are a million reasons why we aren't having sex and the most common excuse is well, we're married. So why single women need a list of "benefits" associated with sex is beyond ridiculous. When I was between the ages of 19-24 there nothing I wanted to do but have sex---all kinds of sex. And the men I was with didn't have to sweeten the deal with anything---if they were hard everything was golden. I guess times have changed because Ami Angeleowicz, author of "15 (More) Benefits of Great Sex" came up with a list of why ladies should be dropping their panties. Here is a sample:

1---Eating pizza in bed without feeling guilty. Unless you are watching a commercial featuring starving people in Africa I see nothing wrong with busting out a pie on a Tuesday night and eating the entire fucking thing in bed.

2---A solid excuse to buy new sheets. Here's the thing, fucking is going to create stains. Embrace them. Think of those stains as badges of honor completely earned.

3---Motivation to keep your apartment spotless. The thing is sister if you are doing your job as a fuck machine, said dude isn't going to care what your pad looks like. To be honest if it's too clean he's going to Google the phrase "spotless apartment" and the diagnosis of OCD is going to pop up.

4---A respite from online Scrabble and marathon Angry Birds sessions. I'd bet my ass if a person is addicted to either/or they will excuse themselves from the bedroom and continue to play on the shitter.

5---The condoms that have been sitting in the drawer of your bedside table for way too long will finally be put to good use. Just make sure you check the expiration date, sister or you will end up like said author of this blog---married, 2 kids and continually resuscitating her vagina.

Source: http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-15-more-benefits-of-sex/

Glass! Handle with Care

2011-02-22T18:52:00.000-06:00

Under no circumstances am I to write anything about my parents---or at least that's what I've been instructed. Every time my mother tells me a "story" she prefaces it by saying, "this better not appear in a future blog post." As you can imagine, my parents have been forbidden from perusing this site, (I think the reason is obvious), but that hasn't stopped me from penning a post about them from time to time, especially when I first started writing. But I have to say, they have gotten even more interesting since my dad's retirement---hence the nickname my brother bestowed upon them: The Amazing Race.

It's true, G&T will travel 4 towns over to shop in a grocery store because they happen to carry dill weed in bulk and some kind of "Mexican cookie" my dad enjoys eating. And yes, I think those are the only 2 items procured at said store. Grocery shopping has become more of an "adventure"---traveling to the outskirts of the suburbs to find that perfect head of lettuce or perfect bunch of dill rather than a quick jaunt to the store less than 2 miles away from their home. My dad has even gone so far as to create his own "cookbook" of recipes he has downloaded from the Internet arranged by "meat", (ie beef, pork, chicken or seafood) and cross-referenced by "cuisine", (Italian, Bistro and Mediterranean). And just so there is no misunderstanding, one can find a dry erase board on their fridge with the days of the week neatly written with the "menu" for each day clearly outlined. It truly is a sight to behold.

Aside from the painstaking meal preparation, G&T have also adopted an exercise regiment that would make any senior citizen question their sanity. Alternating between a stationary bike and tread mill, miles are diligently logged in each day. No doubt visions of that evening's meal are dancing in their heads---a meal probably consumed at 3:00 p.m. for all I know.

When my dad retired, my brother Matt and I placed bets on how long it would take before he got "restless". I was happy I lost that bet, but in the back of my mind I couldn't shake the idea he was going to find some hobby, announce it and delve right in feet first. Thank jesus he didn't disappoint. My dad's new hobby? Stained glass.

A little history. My grandmother, my dad's mother, is still churning out stained glass pieces at the age of 87. She has created everything from nightlights to full sized lights; small window pieces to entire windows. She truly is an artisan. The only "art" I have ever seen my dad do is a pencil drawing of Fred Flinstone and Barney Rubble---and he would have to be in a really good mood to sketch one of those on a whim. So the idea my dad was going to construct a hummingbird out of glass seemed a little out of place. But if finding his inner metrosexual/gay is what he needs then god speed.

So far I am the proud owner of 2 stained glass pieces ala TK---both are Shamrocks and proudly displayed for my upcoming St. Patrick Day festivities. A few weeks ago I went down to his ~~basement~~ studio to see how it was set up and treated to a "preview" of his next piece---a fish. A little Caribbean for my taste but what the fuck do I know. So as I am looking at it he comes over and says "yeah, fucked that up already." Way to sell it, Dad.

As you would expect, my brother and I haven't missed an opportunity to poke fun at my dad's expense---it's the least we can do. I suggested he needs to start to sell his "glass" at the French Market---Wheaton's farmer's market held every Saturday. It's a big fucking deal if you have a booth at one of these things. Of course there's always the County Fair but I don't think those purchasing roach clips with feathers attached would appreciate his wares. It was my brother who suggested Dad create a stained glass puzzle piece---the autism puzzle piece. Fucking brilliant little brother. Churn out enough of those we could get him a booth at the Cure Autism Now Walk. From what I understand from Matt, my mom has downloaded a variety of puzzle piece options for him to consider---I guess she has taken on the role of art director.

At the end of the day, however, I'm the one who's going to have stained glass "pieces" hanging from each of my windows----trust me when I say my house has a lot of fucking windows. I'm quite certain people will drive by the house and say "oh my, there's The Boulevard Cathedral". But I would by lying if I didn't admit it pleases me beyond words my dad has found "something" to pass the time, (as well as get in touch with his inner gay). My brother, on the other hand, is waiting with baited breath for his first stained glass masterpiece. I have a hunch what it is....Fred fucking Flinstone.

I Defer to the Experts

2011-02-21T12:33:00.000-06:00

As a "writer" what I find most worrisome, (besides having zero talent), is getting stuck on certain topics---my own version of perseveration. Granted sex is a topic people never seem to tire of but there is always that "added pressure" to share something new whether that's in the form of information or a new product. I also worry I may be portraying myself as some sort of "sex-pert". Please bitches. I am here to set the record straight: I have zero expertise in anything, including fucking. I mean let's be honest, there's nothing more annoying than dealing with a person who thinks they are an expert in something or even worse, everything. So if I have mislead anyone I apologize, but it won't deter me from "pretending" I know what I'm talking about.

For example, I hinted in a previous post pubic hair turns gray. To be frank, I had no clue if this was really true---I was just lamenting about turning older and dealing with gray hairs upstairs as well as downstairs. If I was a serious journalist I would have checked into the facts prior to writing but in the scheme of things who really cares. It was meant to be funny. Well god love my readers because I was sent a link to a company who manufactures hair dye for pubes. Available in a variety of shades including "Black Betty", "Brown Betty", "Auburn Betty", "Blonde Betty" and "Fun Betty", the tag line simply reads, "Color for the hair down there". Aside from the "are you fucking kidding me" response, I was drawn in by the testimonials which included a 40-year old woman by the name of "Lisa" who was grateful for such a product because when she found her first gray pube she about lost it, (honey your life is pretty fucking golden if this is all you have to worry about). I was also transfixed on the "Fun Betty" shade which is pink---now how fun would it be to dye your entire bush pink?

I personally have no need for this product---I prefer hardwood floors with a nice ornate stripe. But even if I was rocking a bush, I would hesitate putting any form of chemical near my magic button. I mean some areas should be deemed sacred and not violated by things "unnatural" which is an excellent segue to The Diva Cup.

Surprisingly The Diva Cup has created a lot of discussion amongst my friends. I am not completely destroying the good intentions behind this little receptacle; just standing in awe of the commitment behind using one. The fact that leakage/spillage doesn't occur I still don't completely believe---even after a brave person actually came forward admitting she used one, (give that gal a fucking endorsement check stat). What can I say, I'm a doubter by nature. But then again how many pairs of boy shorts have I ruined when the dam runneth over? Well I stumbled across a product that just may be a nice compliment to The Diva Cup---Sexy Period Panties.

Available in 3 styles---cheeky, hipster and bikini, the Sexy Period Panties have layers of "absorbent material" built into the crotch. Awesome. Nothing like further trapping that hot mess between your legs. But even better than the service this underwear provides, is the cost---$44.00 a pair. And much like The Diva Cup, a pure delight to clean, I'm sure. But what do I know----I'm so not an expert.

Sources: http://www.bettybeauty.com/buyproducts.php and http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-feel-sexy-even-when-your-tampon-is-leaking/

Chicken Broth and Spices

2011-02-17T19:37:00.000-06:00

It's been awhile since I've written a post about Emma and Jack. I've been hesitant because I discovered someone did a Google search using the words "Emma Jack Autism Etcetera, Etc." A little unnerving to say the least. While I'm sure the search was completely innocent, I have pulled back from talking about them. I think subconsciously, however, I have also pulled back because it's a lot easier to write about topics I pretend to know about, (sex), rather than expend the energy on a topic I know all too well, (autism).

Paula Deen is insane and I have devoted a lot of "key strokes" dissecting her inability to eat healthy, (although I would bet you anything she uses a stick of butter for lube). Yet just like a good car crash, I can't turn away. But recently, Paula has piqued the interest of my kids, especially Jack. And everyday, at 5:00 p.m., Jack asks to watch "cooking", which means only one thing: "Paula Deen Time"---lord have mercy.

As any parent of a child with autism will tell you there is no rhyme or reason to why certain "things" interest their child. Emma and Jack were never "stackers" or insistent on lining things up by color or shape---they just found "things". For Emma finding something often means getting "stuck" on it or "perseverating" while Jack is a little different---when he finds "something" he sticks with it not out of habit but out of genuine interest. He wants to understand. And god help us all but he wants to understand Paula Deen.

I should have known Paula piqued his interest when he took a bite out of a stick of butter---true story. After suppressing my need to vomit, I asked Jack what he was doing in which he replied "butter---cook." Who the hell knew Paula Deen was an autism whisperer! Since then Jack has commented on "cups of sugar and flour" and the need for "chicken broth and spices." A budding chef? Perhaps. A Paula Deen worshiper? Most definitely.

While I love my son unconditionally, I couldn't help but question Ms. Deen's sanity, (as well as my own), as I watched her make a batch of cookie dough in which she proceeded to roll into 2 inch balls, refrigerate, then dip into melted chocolate. Yup, nothing like eating uncooked cookie dough dredged in melted chocolate. I even turned to Jack and said, "that's insane, right?"

Over the years I have done my best to suppress feelings of envy when my friends talk about their kids and the various activities they are involved with. I find myself grateful that I have an outlet for "normalcy" in my life even if it's living vicariously through others yet there are moments where I am painfully reminded of all the challenges my two children face on a daily basis. I am ashamed to admit that I often long for "moments"---moments to remind me that Emma and Jack are more than their diagnosis.

Today Jack and I watched Paula stuff a yellow pepper with hash browns, shredded cheese, bacon and green onions topped off with a "custard" made of eggs and heavy cream. Nothing like making a frittata in a yellow pepper ramekin. And as I watched this hot mess unfold in front of my eyes, I realized that Jack and I do share a "moment" together everyday at 5:00 p.m.. He curls up next to me on the couch and we watch 30 minutes of culinary insanity. And with each ingredient Paula adds to her bowl, Jack tells me the measurement. It's a simple moment but a moment all the same---a moment with son, a pound of butter and Paula Deen.

Road Hard & Put Away Wet

2011-02-16T11:22:00.001-06:00

I feel a little bad when I use provocative titles to lure you all in---I didn't ride anything hard and well I'm always some degree of "wet"---as in behind the ears. But don't close out your browsers quite yet---I promise to deliver, (somewhat). If you recall, I had a friend take one for the "team" and purchase a set of Ben WAAAAA Balls to test out, (see Cupid's Treasure Trove) and I recently purchased "The Perfect Sit-Up" which many of you said looked "crazy" and "luge-like". Well as promised, I am back to give the reviews and of course throw in a new product for those "looking" to test something out.....

1---Ben WAAAA Balls

To review, (for those of you that aren't avid followers of my blog), Ben Wa Balls are designed to strengthen the interior walls of the vagina. The "balls" are inserted in the vagina and the muscles constrict to avoid having said balls roll out while taking your dog for a walk, (or any other type of activity you engage in). I had my doubts about these fuckers from the beginning---first of all I'm usually deterred from most forms of "exercise" and the effort to keep two walnut shaped balls up my snatch falls into that category. Second, if you have access to a penis 24/7 and said penis isn't complaining about the roominess of your twot, then why bother, I say. But seeing I didn't walk the walk, (just talking for the sake of talking), what did my "reviewer" say?

To paraphrase, "it felt like a tampon inserted completely wrong", followed up by, "I love my vagina just the way it is...." However my buddy is now left with the decision of what to do with her 2 balls. While contributing to the local landfill is probably the route she's going to take, another friend suggested trying to eBay her balls with the description, "gently used." The opening bid is for $20.00, (shipping included). Any takers?

2---The Perfect Sit-Up

Seeing I lack expertise in anything, the least I could do was challenge myself to perfect the art of the "crunch", (crunch just sounds more fit than sit up in my humble opinion). It has been a month since procuring my "Perfect Sit-Up" contraption and I have certainly received my fair share of ribbing over it. Well smart asses I'm here to tell you this machine works---this little lady has abs, (albeit little ones, but abs all the same).

I think the true test of any piece of exercise "equipment" is if the user feels any sort of "burn". Of course the pain could be derived from using the piece of said equipment completely wrong but the beauty of "The Perfect Sit-Up" is the click it makes when you do a crunch properly. And let me tell you, I am fucking clicking like you wouldn't believe. The hardest part of "The Perfect Sit-Up", however, is actually lowering my body onto the floor. Honest to god every single bone in my body cracks. And don't even get me started on getting back up---I am sad ass sight indeed. But all the same my endorsement remains firm---this was definitely worth whatever Matt paid for it. As a matter of fact, just last night he told me I felt "tight". Not sure what he was referencing exactly but come on, that's worth a collective "shizzle".

3---Knee Pads for those Creaky Knees

One of joys of getting older is not getting wiser, (just look at me), but the ability to just say "no". While I haven't banished the blow job from my bedroom repertoire, I have banished the practice of getting on my knees to do it. Well the marketing folks at Diesel were thoughtful enough to consider the knees of women by offering a pair of "blow job knee pads" with every $150 purchase made in their stores, (in India). Outstanding. The tag line reads "buy one pearl necklace and get another one free." Holy shit---I don't see that promotion coming to the United States anytime soon which is a good thing----the knee pads are snazzy and all, but I have a hard enough time lowering myself down to do "The Perfect Sit-Up". Sorry Matt, no perfect blow job for you.

Source: http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-diesels-blowjob-kneepads-for-the-romantic-in-all-of-us/

PS---The word "Road" was purposely chosen instead of "Rode"---as in "Road Tested"

A Posse Full of Bitches

2011-02-14T13:35:00.000-06:00

I'm starting to see some real merit with having "girl friends". That's not to say I have changed my mind completely about women and my general hesitation of befriending this overly sensitive, back stabbing group of misfits. However in the course of one year, I have managed to find myself a nice group of women who are just like me---beer loving, sex-crazed deviants who find the words cock sucker and mother fucker effective means of communication. I suppose those "looking in" might find us a sad ass lot, but I firmly believe even the most mentally unstable deserve a support system.

Besides our love for icy cold beverages, this newly created pack of bitches is pretty forthright when it comes to sex, love, marriage and everything in between. No topic is too personal nor too risque, (I think one's membership might be revoked if topics veered to the tame side). That's not to say there isn't a degree of empathy or a willingness to tone down the cock talk if one of us needs to vent. But for the most part this group is all about empowerment and the willingness to go where no woman has gone before....

One of my fella sistas recently went for a Brazilian wax and was kind enough to share her experience with us including the small detail of having her ass in the air while said waxer applied a coat of hot wax to her asshole and ripped. And after fielding questions which included "how much did it hurt"; "did you fart when she waxed your balloon knot"; and "how long do you have to let your pubes grow out?" we all made a pact---we are going on a field trip to have our whoo-ha's waxed together. Yee Haw!

Coordinating this expedition has been challenging so we're still working on a "date", but I'm confident we are going to make this "dream a reality"---(kinda like an X-rated version of Make a Wish for the mentally deranged). As luck would have it, however, one member of the pussy posse recently read an article about the dangers of "waxing" and its link to staph infection. Thanks Peppermint for being a fucking buzz kill but my vagina appreciates the warning . Of course this "newsflash" was missed by our pal who touted the wonders of having her hardwood floor buffed because she just went back for another round of "wax on, wax off". As you can surmise we are holding vigil and if she doesn't develop staph then game back on.

In the meantime, I came across an alternative for my posse---a product called "Trim and Proper---the undies that come with "down-there" hair shapes printed on the front." Genius I tell you, genius. Here are the "shapes" you can choose from:

The Landing Strip

The Postage Stamp

The Triangle

Of course I am slightly perplexed why one would want to purchase said panties because once removed it would become painfully obvious to the other party, (whether male or female), that your bush is not even close to what's being advertised. Never the less, I commend the creators entrepreneurial spirit and contemplating buying some for my posse---especially if that staph thing proves true.

Source: http://www.glamour.com/beauty/blogs/girls-in-the-beauty-department/2011/02/wacky-or-genius-what-do-you-th.html

A Mad, Mad Hatter

2011-02-11T14:21:00.000-06:00

Those of us living in the Midwest are giddy with anticipation---temperatures could reach 40 freaking degrees by Sunday. For those living in warmer climates you may be thinking "so the fuck what---that's still cold, " but contraire mon frere, it is nothing short of a heat wave in these parts. So much of a heat wave that I guarantee I will crack a window open, (or two), to inhale in all that fresh, warm air.

In the scheme of things, Illinois has been sparred this winter. Sure, we had to "dig out" from a blizzard last week and confronted by 3, (some of us 4), snow days resulting in mass amounts of alcohol to be consumed, but compared to the East coast, it has been a relatively mild winter. Of course we were blasted with sub-zero temperatures this week with a wind chill so frosty testicles shrunk upon contact and nipples stood erect hours after coming in from the cold. Snow sucks, cold sucks, but what are we going to do? It's winter after all for fuck sakes.

As all local news insists on doing, a human interest piece was done regarding the cold. I would like the news to do away with human interest stories. While I am human I could care less what the majority of other humans are doing unless it directly affects me. Furthermore, human interest stories don't fool people---things are still bad all over and a fluff piece about a man who recycles his pee and cooks with it isn't going to distract me from the fact the world is imploding. Perhaps I'm in the minority with this opinion. Anyway, the human interest piece done on the cold focused on, (are you ready?), whether people wear hats or not. A worthy expose if I ever heard one.

Frank Mathie, roving reporter for our local ABC station, set out to interview a variety of non-hat wearing people roaming the streets of Chicago to inquire why they don't cover their heads up when it is tundra-esque like weather. Fucking stupid comes to mind, Frank by that's just me. Of course the flip side of the argument is those that do are fucking pussies but we'll get back to that. After a bunch of sound bites of hat wearing/non-hat wearing people were pieced together I walked away with the following opinion---what a fucking waste of 3 minutes. That didn't stop me, however, from ~~stealing~~ borrowing this idea and posing the following question on my FB page: "who out here wears a hat when the weather is this frigid?"

Not surprising no dudes answered my question. The majority of guys who choose to wear a hat lean towards the "skull cap." Not a real fan of the look. If you are in the Navy than by all means adorn your head with one otherwise most guys look like wanna be members of the Village People. As for the women, it was a split response with some answering with a vehement "yes" while others with a vehement "no fucking way". You can put me in the no fucking way category.

I am not hat person. Not only do I look terrible in a hat but I do not own a head of hair that embraces a hat. The situation would have to be extreme for me to wear a hat---if I was forced to sit stationary for a period of time I might consider it but in every day "life" I just say no. I would argue I"m "tough" while you might I argue I'm a vain, stupid woman. Point taken.

The truth is, (or at least truth as I see it), there are only 2 types of women who can pull off a hat. Type 1 are those that don't give a shit---about anything. I mean if you have to be burdened with being ugly what difference does it make if you put on a hat. Type 2 are those that are naturally beautiful. You know the type. Those that can carry off wind swept hair and no make up because god graced them with looks. And while I would love to "hate" these ~~bitches~~ women I just can't.

As you can probably surmise I am not a natural beauty, (nor am I fishing for a compliment). There is no doubt if I left my house without a hint of make up traffic would come to a crashing halt, (and not in the good way). I suppose some of my hat phobia could be linked to low self-esteem and while dredging up my lack of hugs as a child would be satisfying, I am getting a little old for that particular stick. I make no apologies for my matter of fact opinion of my looks---they are what they are. Nor do I make apologies for being completely irresponsible for not wearing a hat for my own well being, (giving the bird to what is expected is a lot more fun). Now with that debate finally settled let's move on. What's your take on gloves?

That's One Very Scary Vagina

2011-02-09T12:26:00.000-06:00

I'm not here to judge but what in the hell? Was this woman not hugged enough as a child or simply picked last for a game of Dodge Ball? I snagged this visual from Frisky.com with the express purpose of saying what in the fuck. Unfortunately this is all I've got---there was no "story" accompanying the image; no "Behind the Vagina" expose revealing what is wrong with this woman. I mean she looks perfectly lovely---off the shoulder blouse; what looks like a tattoo above her left boob; sitting in a picturesque type pose obviously suppressing her shocking phobia of being terrified of her own twot. While some would be content posting this picture and encouraging all of you to "discuss" I really don't need much to create a post, (unfortunately). So the first thing we need figure out is if such a phobia actually exists.

Leave it to the find folks at Urban Dictionary to confirm what I already suspected---there are some afraid of pussy. Vaginaphobia is defined as being "afraid of getting pussy or to be offered pussy on a plate but declining the offer for reasons unknown." Not the definition I thought I would find but I suppose it will do. The only reasonable explanation I can come up with is the guy in question is gay because no heterosexual man is going to turn down vagina no matter how fuggly the woman attached to it is.

I do think this phobia probably does exist in terms of women being comfortable enough to rub one out. Incredibly, I have run into a handful of women who have fully admitted to not pleasuring themselves---what a waste. I don't know if they think it is "dirty", (you bet your ass it can be), or if there is some level of guilt attached to the act, (I'm guilty of not doing it enough). Whatever, to each their own but if I didn't exercise my right to rub I would be even more grouchy and pessimistic.

As of late, health professionals have been touting the benefits of female masturbation---especially as women age. While envisioning a bunch of senior citizens with vibrators up their snatches brings on a case of dry heaves, I am all about finding another "excuse" to come.

Two things plague women sexually as they age---lack of "wetness" and lack of "drive", (based on some of the conversations I've had, this is happening to women in their 30s, but I digress). Did you know as you age your vagina gets "shorter and more narrow", and "without regular supplies of estrogen, the walls of the vagina can become thin and stiff?" Well that sounds awesome. While paying extra attention to your "bean" won't create more natural lubrication, it will allow you to experiment with various kinds of lubes to find which one you prefer. Think of it as a perfume counter full of samples.

As for "drive" you need to kick start it hard in the ass, (not in your ass unless you like to get your freak on that way). Sometimes you need to put in the time to see results---time well spent if you ask me. The article I read, however, cautioned not to use masturbation as a way to "mask" marital problems. I actually agree with that. The beauty of masturbation is to incorporate what you like into your relationship---either said in a whisper or in a "lick my boot, bitch" kinda way. And while admittedly the vagina ain't the prettiest looking thing, it shouldn't be scary. So take a minute today ladies and extend your hand down south and make its acquaintance, (or in my case a re-introduction).

Source: http://www.everydayhealth.com/sexual-health/female-masturbation-health-benefits.aspx?xid=nl_EverydayHealthSexualHealth_20110123

Be Mine (Not)

2011-02-07T14:00:00.000-06:00

Love is expensive. Forget the emotional toll love can take on a person, (that in itself is a separate post), but the actual dollar and cents involved. I was watching a segment on the morning news that broke down Valentine's Day gifts by value and assigned said gifts to "how long" you have been with that individual. Seeing my jaded view on the holiday, I kinda appreciated this take and the solid advice that went along with it---the longer you have been with a person, the more money you spend. For example, if you have been with a person less than 6 months, the resident expert suggested buying a variety of movies at Best Buy, (store plug), and arranging them in a decorative "bucket" one could find at "Target" with some bags of microwave popcorn. While on the surface this seemed kinda lame and stupid, (considering most people stream movies on their TVs), I understood the premise---an effort was made but not much investment. Bravo! Conversation Hearts all around I say.

My interest piqued, however, when said expert---who really wasn't a "love" expert but a representative from a local mall promoting, well the stores, got to the "married over 10 years category." Oh boy, that's me. Her suggestions included a Coach wallet, iPad, or a "really nice watch." Her point was pretty obvious---if you have put in the time, you deserve a reward, (the more expensive the better). Well far be it for me to disagree with an "expert" so I'm in the process of making up my own Valentine's Day wish list with items beginning at the bargain price of $500.

In my opinion, the innocence of Valentine's Day disappears right around age 6. There is a basic comprehension of the word "liking" followed by a chorus of giggles upon entering the first grade and by the time you reach 5th the words "Cutie Pie" and "Be Mine" are translated literally. Then god help us when entering junior high and beyond which begs the question why Valentine's Day isn't given a birth-6 year designation, (a mandate which I would fully support).

But besides the big "to do" over what to get the one you love, a much bigger "to do" is made over those flying solo on Valentine's Day. There are anti-Valentine's Day parties, support groups, dinner specials and chocolate especially designed to comfort those losers not in love. Now while I don't envy the idea of being "alone", I do kinda envy the prospect of celebrating this dreaded day with only one goal in mind---spoiling moi. Because if you can't love and appreciate yourself then why even bother trying to love another. And as one might suspect, I ran across a list of "10 Ways Single Ladies Can Embrace Valentine's Day". Fuck the single ladies part---this old married lady would gladly do some of these things. Is that wrong? Here is a small sample.

1---Book yourself a spa or massage appointment. Let's see...a three hour block of silence while a complete stranger rubs me down the right way. Fuck yeah! Sign me up.

2---Watch a marathon of movies that you find romantic. Well for me that would be the "Fast and Furious" franchise followed by "Alien" and "Aliens". What? To each his own mother fuckers.

3---Cuddle up with a good book and read all day. Good in theory but the reality is I would be asleep within 30 minutes, (unless it was the Joy of Sex---there's just something about those pencil drawings).

4---Cook yourself an epic, multi-course meal. Pass. If I'm celebrating alone my meal is going to come in a card board box (pizza), a jar with a twist top, (salsa) and a bag of salty goodness---and ain't talking nuts.

5---Go take a salsa lesson, (or yoga or meditation). No, no and uh, no. The only lesson I'm going to take is how to better pleasure myself given by the fine folks at Lover's Lane.

Surprisingly there is no mention of booze, carbo-loaded foods, masturbation or booze on this list. Perhaps I am a dude trapped in a bodacious body, but I can't think of a better way to celebrate Valentine's Day solo than with a six-pack, a bag of pretzels and a vibrator fully charged. Oh, and a big ass box of chocolates. So what do you say? Be Mine?

Source: http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-10-ways-single-ladies-can-embrace-valentines-day/

I Have a Vagina and You Don't

2011-02-03T11:16:00.000-06:00

I stopped entertaining the idea that one "sex" is more superior than the other long ago. Arguably women should win that debate---we can incubate another human for an entire 9 months, yet men and women both have moments where superiority is in the eye of the beholder bordering on non-existence. And then there are times where one sex completely sucks a balloon knot. [Author's Note: Balloon knot is my new favorite word---it just encompasses what a butt hole looks like. Many thanks to my buddy "A" for introducing me to such a stellar term]. Anyway where was I? Oh yes, superiority. As I was saying, it's kinda futile to argue men outweigh women in intelligence or that women outweigh men in ~~moodiness~~ empathy. "People" tend to outweigh other people resulting in a draw between the sexes.

That doesn't stop us, however, from trying to "understand" each other. I truly question the sanity of that, especially when it comes to women. I will be the first to admit my species is crazy but despite this flaw, we do possess tits in our arsenal and at the end of the day, what more could you really want. Yet men, including my husband, continually search out for an underlying meaning to explain why we do the things we do---as if understanding us will unlock some door and grant unlimited access to our snatch. I can't say I blame men for at least attempting the quest but their time could be better spent drinking a case of beer and flipping through a Hustler.

On any given day, one can find a plethora of articles written with the sole purpose of explaining women, their habits and what one can expect if you so chose to get involved with one, (not really, but wouldn't that make for an exciting expose?). For example, women who are ovulating have a tendency to buy sexier clothing. The theory is with all the hormones raging through our bodies we are (a) hornier; (b) juicer, (or to be technical, we experience an increase in cervical fluid); and (c) readily willing to accept a hot beef injection. In layman's terms you have a gender who is ready to spread eagle on command.

I will be the first to admit all the above is true---I am hornier when ovulating; way juicer; and more willing to welcome Matt's member. I have come to appreciate these "signs" because they remind me of a time when I was always horny, always juicy and always wanted dick. A time known as my 20s.

But let's get back to the sexier clothing issue. I think this only applies to women who are single---my buying habits have less to do with being sexy and more to do with elastic waistbands and Lycra. Upon reading more about this phenomenon, however, women aren't buying the sexy clothes to generate interest among the men,they are buying the sexy clothes to make statement---a statement to other women. Just as men will piss on a tree to mark their territories, women mark theirs with the assets God gave them, (with aid from a push-up bra).

So what happens when we stop ovulating? Is that when women throw in the towel and finally declare they don't give a shit while reaching for a pair of aqua blue sweatpants? Do orthopedic shoes suddenly look attractive? Do our bushes become unruly and (gasp) gray? The prospect of those things happening scares the living shit out of me. I dread the day where I am no longer juicy and horny and I especially dread the prospect of having gray pubes. But it's out there....just waiting.

Despite having the ability to incubate and give birth to a human being, women are sorely lacking in the idea of aging gracefully. I am reminded of this each time I find more strands of gray hair and sprint out the door for another application of youth for the bargain price of $180. It is a vicious, never ending cycle that I don't see reaching any sort of resolution until, well, death.

If you are as lucky as I am and have been married for any sort of duration, (and yes smart asses, I did say that with a straight face), I'm sure your husband has made the effort to remind you how beautiful you are. It's definitely true in my case although Matt follows up that statement with, "so seeing you are so beautiful, how about we forgo the $180 dye job." I would like to "think" I could get to a place where my outward appearance wouldn't matter but I just don't see that happening. And contrary to what you might be thinking, it has less to do with vanity and more to do with fending off "time". Because time doesn't slow down with age, it accelerates which I find completely unacceptable. So as I continue to explore different ways to make my mark, (aside from wearing silky boy shorts), I'm starting to appreciate the complicated mess women ~~are~~ can be. It doesn't make us superior, but at the very least interesting and definitely fuckable.

Source: http://www.aolhealth.com/2010/08/05/study-women-who-are-ovulating-buy-sexier-clothing/

Boobs, Boners & Cupid

2011-01-28T16:21:00.000-06:00

Well it's official---Google Image is fueling the majority of my traffic for this blog. Not limited to the continental United States, mind you, but searches being conducted on every continent---searches for boobs, boners and apparently all things cupid. I know I should be happy that my traffic has increased and not so hung up on the "how"---I mean I did write a post entitled "All Things Boobs", (2,341 views to date); "Gonna Fetch Me Some Boners", (28,593 views to date); and "Cupid's Treasure Trove, (1,454 views to date), but I never thought I'd be actually "helping" people fuel their insatiable appetite for such things. Honestly I'm not sure if I should boast or go take a shower.

It's not surprising that my more popular posts revolve around sex---whether it be about the "act", female genitalia, boobs or the schlong. Yet there are "days" where I wonder if I have somehow sold out and picked topics guaranteed to garner attention rather than flexing my writing skills for the power of good. Granted I don't think I have it in me to write about "good", but still, there has to be other topics, worthy topics in need of attention, right?

Of course the answer is "yes" but that author sure as hell isn't me. I think it's pretty obvious I'm not going to pen the next great American novel, (or even a paragraph), not when there are so many fucked up topics in need of dissecting. For example, crazy sexual practices. But not just any sexual practices---crazy, fucked up, "are you serious?" sexual practices. Forget about the rubber sheets and mice, I'm talking about "you really should seek some psychiatric attention" kinda sex. So settle in my dear sweet audience and grab a tube of your favorite lube and let me be your leather clad guide....

1---Pony Play. What makes this one all kinds of cuckoo crazy is you can either make this one "erotic" or "non-sexual". Excellent. I always like being presented with a choice. As you might conclude, one person plays "pony" and the other plays "owner" and what you make that dirty filthy little pony do is all up to you....

2---Agalmatophilia. Note to self: anything ending in "ophilia" ain't gonna be good. In this case you get a bone, (or wet spot), for a mannequin. Sorta attractive to those of us who have been married a long time seeing a mannequin can't talk back.

3---Technosexuality. This one is all about robots---people either dressed as droids or busting out their best robotic moves. Note to self: stop busting out your best robotic moves on the dance floor.

4---Armpit Sex. Also know as "pocket of paradise", a dude will place his dick in a ladies armpit and then....well I'm not really sure. I am little unclear whether you try to make a farting noise or if he just fucks the shit out of your pit.

5---Nyotaimori. To be clear, if I can't pronounce it, I ain't doing it, but Nyotaimori is the act of putting sushi all over your body and having your dude/lady eat it off of you. As if women already don't have to put up with an onslaught of tuna jokes....

6---Salirophilia. The definition of this "ophilia" is as follows."Salirophiliacs get erotic pleasure from soiling their partner by ripping their clothes, messing up their hair or makeup, or covering them in mud." First of all I instantly associate the word "soil" with the word "shit". Second, spunk is messy enough---throw in some additional lubrication and that recipe is messy enough for me. But then again I do walk on the OCD side of life but holy shit can I buck like a pony...

Source: http://www.thefrisky.com/post/246-10-crazy-sexual-practices-we-were-totally-unaware-

Skin It

2011-01-26T11:13:00.000-06:00

When I saw the words "child pornography" and "MTV" in the same headline my interest instantly peaked. Touted as a hard hitting and realistic portrayal of teenage angst, "Skins" takes the audience on an enlightened journey of sex, drugs and everything in between including girl on girl sex, (see why my interest was peaked?). So is this show as "disturbing" as the media is portraying? Are advertisers justified in pulling their ads? Well before I give my opinion, let's break down what this show is about.

While MTV has been known to showcase some originality when in comes to programming, the execs can't take credit for this one---it is a transplant from Britain. That's right folks, the UK is far more original and groundbreaking than America---perhaps you have heard of a little show called "The Office". So to personify what is already a given---that American writers are better plagiarizers---MTV has borrowed Britain's version of "Skins" and revamped it for the American audience. Shocking. The UK version has been around for 5 seasons and touts 3 things: (1) the writing is done by teenagers/unprofessional writers; (2) the cast frequently changes to keep the story lines fresh and (3) it is laden with nudity and sex. How do I know? Well as any good journalist should do, I watched the 1st UK episode and the 1st US episode for comparison, (and if you want to see some "skin", you are better off watching the British version. There was a bush shot within the first 5 minutes....)

Which leads me to the title "Skins". Clever little title with 2 meanings, (otherwise known as the double entendre). There is little doubt significant "skin on skin" contact is going to be made with this group of horny little teens as well as a whole lot of pot smoking---(rolling papers also known as "skins"). So screwing and smoking is the premise for this show led by a piped piper, "Holden Caufield like character" as described by MTV who goes by the name of "Tony". Well I may not be exactly the demographic MTV is after, this Tony character sure is cute and who doesn't like a hot and heavy teen drama?

Well colored me fucked! MTV left a little detail out when promoting said show. The actors playing the show's character's aren't even legal---the youngest clocks in at the ripe old age of 15. So you know what that makes me? A really dirty bird who is watching teens getting it on while getting myself off. Well not really but that Tony character sure was cute. Here lies the crux of the problem...."Skins" is portraying a slice of "teen life" with real teens and parents, (and advertisers), don't like what they're seeing.

So am I on some kind of "watch list" because one could argue this show is a form of child pornography? Doubtful. Yes there was "implied" sex and a lot of making out but no nudity, no bush shot. Was it a little unnerving to learn these "kids" were actually kids? Yes. Which raises the question who is the intended audience for this show?

MTV, (as well the "original" creators), contend the shows content is realistic and teens, fortunately or unfortunately, are participating in the behaviors depicted. Well no shit. I hate to remind parents that we all participated in a lot of the same behaviors but weren't (a) high tech savvy doing it; (b) quite sure what to exactly call what were doing and (c) down right blatant. But the end result was all the same---either coming or getting drunk/high. Plain and simple. Where the kids of today are little more diluted is how they define sex. This generation is hung up on the fact that anything but "intercourse" isn't sex. Wrong. If you end up with a dull throb in your groin or handful of spunk in your mouth or ass you've had sex.

In MTVs defense, the show is on at 9 p.m.. If you have a younger tween just tell them no. Of course they are going to find a way to watch it so I always prescribe to this philosophy---a good offense is a good defense. In other words, watch the show. Think of it as another way to peer into the life of your teenager. Is it creepy? Maybe. But at the very least, it can open the door to a dialog---granted a dialog that completely sucks but necessary.

Not to sound "preachy" but I kinda adhere to a simple philosophy---a formula if you will. Actions can yield consequences---unwanted pregnancies, addiction, STDs but, (and this is an important but), those consequences can be dealt with by balancing prevention with responsibility. A TV show isn't going to sway a generation of kids to shoot up and screw. Nor is it going to give an "accurate" depiction of what is really going on besides what we already suspect. Being a parent is about delving into what is uncomfortable and relaying a simple message---be careful, be responsible, but if you do fuck up, I'll be here because that's MY responsibility. I know. Easier said than done. That's why I am going to continue to watch "Skins"---the UK version, to better understand how to roll the perfect blunt with an English accent.

Who EXACTLY Do I Need to Sleep With?

2011-01-24T13:29:00.000-06:00

I don't know what I would do without Cosmo magazine. While admittedly I get a lot of fodder for blog posts from my own life, Cosmo continually fuels my topic pool. Not only are the topics completely ridiculous, but the "advice" accompanying said topic baffling. I'm starting to get why the youth of America is more fucked up than my own generation---they are reading Cosmo magazine. I can't even ascertain who the "target" audience is aside from having a low IQ. Even the demographic they target is puzzling---while one would assume women I refuse to believe that my fellow sisters are (a) this stupid and (b) this uneducated, (although one could argue those residing in states below the Mason Dixie Line could be in need of an abridged/Cliffs Notes version---just kidding, (not really)).

So who died and made me superior you ask? Well I did. I have made it a personal mission to take Cosmo articles and rewrite them to suit the masses---my masses by simply asking "who is writing these fucking articles?" Nothing would please me more than to discover a straight dude is behind the assine lists because let's be honest, no card carrying gay man would pen articles about various ways to have fun that include giving high fives. No fucking way. So the only conclusion I can garner is women are to blame which begs the question who do I have to sleep with exactly to get a writing gig? I would gladly spread like peanut butter to make up lists and garner fucked up advice.

The latest "list", entitled "7 Signs He Wants to Have Sex, (Besides the Obvious One!)", proves once again that our entire species is stupid and really should be put down. Before I delve into the specifics, I feel it necessary to state the obvious---who gives a shit. If your dude is rock hard then he wants to fuck. Seriously, what other signs does a gal need?

1---He Gets an Eye Erection. "His pupils dilate, making the black part of the eye go from small to larger, something that happens when arousal spikes." It could also indicate he's on drugs, completely drunk or just had a light shined in his freaking eyes.

2---He Hooks His Thumbs in His Belt Loops, According to Cosmo a guy does this to direct your attention to his package. Really? It seems like he's ready to join a Country Western line dance too me.

3---He Touches His Nose A Lot. My first thought is he's got a habit not that he's horny but the Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine states "that the nerves in a guy's nose and his erectile tissue are linked." Bull. Shit. Furthermore, is the Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine even real? Sounds kinda like a publication straight out of Hogwarts.

4---He Speaks More Deeply Than Usual. Granted, I don't want my men to talk in a lispy, high pitched voice, but a deep baritone voice uttering the words "fuck me" is a little reminiscent of Silence of the Lambs.

5---He Cups or Rubs Your Shoulders. In this house if I offer up a friendly game of "thumb wrestling" Matt's down to fuck. If your dude touches you anywhere the message is universal.

6---He Goes in For a Hug and Rests His Hand on Your Back. What part of touching isn't synonymous with fucking?

7---He Bites His Lower Lip and Shakes His Head. That's right ladies, he's checking you out, "poppin' bottles in the ice like a blizzard" and ready to get. it. on. Or he could just be really hungry.

Source: http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/tips-moves/signs-men-want-to-have-sex?

"Let Me Hear Your Body Talk"

2011-01-21T15:39:00.000-06:00

According to somebody, (not exactly sure "who"), most people break their New Year's resolutions this week. Not real surprising---it is fucking January and we are at the mercy of winter---what a bitch. Despite my commitment to try to eat better, I thoroughly enjoyed a Reuben and a few beers last night although I did choose a side salad rather than fries because lettuce and I are still really tight. There's no getting around it---food is comfort but if you want to at least feign being "healthy" you need to strike a balance between what you put in your mouth and finding a way to "burn" it off. As pointed out by a good friend of mine, once you hit 40, it takes a minimum of 5 weeks to burn off 5 pounds instead of 5 days. Cold hard facts people. Cold. Hard. Facts.

I have recently added another piece of equipment to my exercise regiment---and no, it isn't a swing or ball gag. Allow me to introduce you to the "Perfect Sit-Up"---a luge like looking contraption that promises to sculpt my sad ass abs into something positively hard and ripped, (although I couldn't quite get that statement in writing). Now before you all accuse me of getting sucked into an infomercial let me just say that's EXACTLY what happened. But I have been using this crazy fucking contraption for over a week now and I really dig it---especially when I hear the "click" of the machine letting me know I am indeed doing the "perfect crunch". Although to be perfectly honest, the clicking sorta makes me feel like one of Pavlov's dogs so I'm not quite sure if I should continue crunching or go ring a bell with my nose.

No matter how hard people try to sell the idea of exercise and the endorphin rush you "might" receive, the monotony can get the best of people and once boredom sets in it's easier to say "fuck this" than establish a new routine. I think that's why a lot of people chose to work out in front of the TV---absorb yourself into a show you trick your mind into thinking exercise is awesome. If the strategy works then who am I to make a comment---unless said exercise is done completely naked then of course I am going to say something....

As I have previously mentioned, I belong to a secret society within my FB profile. We truly are sick with a touch of depraved yet manage to find a symmetry unlike any other I've known. We tend to congregate towards the end of the day throwing out insults, sex tips and the like all while finishing up work for the day, or in my case, starting dinner. One said member, however, uses this time to "work out" while communicating with us online. He sets up his computer and hops on his stationary bike---well not a traditional stationary bike, a recumbent bike. And if that isn't sad enough, he let us all know he puts his "metal" to the pedal completely in the buff, (except for the towel he sits on to catch the beads of sweat that inevitably run down the crack of his ass).

I don't know what is more disturbing---the image of our friend with his pancake ass cheeks spread out on towel pedaling a recumbent bike or that his wife, another dear friend, confirmed said phenomenon with the phrase, "well at least he's exercising." Tru dat, but whoa....

But then again I have a husband who powders his balls in the drive way, shovels snow in his boxers and flip flops and who takes every opportunity, (if the kids aren't around, of course), to pull down his pants while walking up the stairs asking me to look at his nice firm ass. I'm beginning to think that the less in shape a guy is in, the more "comfortable" he is with himself, his balls and general nakedness. I know Matt's self-image is better than mine and he is built like a Buddha doll.

At least our buddy has a good sense of humor---we have all taken our turns jabbing at him today by posting pictures of people on bikes including Pee Wee Herman as well as downloading a musical tribute by the band Queen. Oh and I can't forget the messages about banana seats and bicycle bells (ringggg, rinnnnggg). Then of course there's this blog post---a post I am timing to coincide with his 4:00 Tour de France ala naked. Something tells me though that Lance Armstrong didn't have this in mind when coined the phrase "LiveStrong (TM)".