Blondie vs. Evil Armored Critter Scourge

Last night I found myself under attack!  I heard it before I saw it…a sound that instantly sent chills up my spine.  I sat in silence looking for the source of the sound and then it appeared.  Running across the laminate floor, like some horror movie critter in alien armor, running straight toward me was a giant roach.  When I say giant, I don’t mean large, I mean GINORMOUS!  Even in the dimly lit room, I could see the flesh of it’s legs, the spikes protruding from each one;  could hear the tap each leg made when it came into contact with the floor as it quickly scurried closer.  This was no normal roach.  This was the Hulk Hogan of roaches and he was headed right toward me!

It was looking at me with evil intent, it's antennas moving like cattle whips as it ran swiftly toward my seat.  I jumped to my feet (squealing like a scared little school girl), sprinted to my evil critter defense arsenal and quickly armed myself for battle (with a flip flop).  I was too late.  The evil critter ran under my reclining spot on the sectional sofa, and seemed safe from my attack.  In high alert, I remained armed, standing in the middle of the living room surveying the room and listening for the spine chilling scurrying sound.  I stood there silent and still for a couple minutes, then muted the television and listened more intently…silence.

Then, quietly and without warning the evil armored critter reappeared to my right and went running toward the other side of the living room, ducking under a free standing recliner.  Bwahahahaha!!!  You can’t hide from me under there scourge!  I flip the recliner over with a loud BAM and begin smacking frantically at the fleeing critter with my critter killing weapon, missing repeatedly. 

My Evil Armored Critter Scourge Killer.  Be afraid scourge...be very,
VERY afraid (or just be dead, that works for me).

Again he escapes running under a box of miscellaneous junk.  Totally engrossed at that moment by the ongoing battle of Blondie vs. Evil Armored Critter Scourge, I suddenly get snapped back to reality by my son wiping the sleep from his eyes with a look that could only be described as one of mixed concern (she’s finally lost it) and curiosity as he asks, “What are you doing, Mom?”

It’s me against the Hulk Hogan Roach and there could be only one survivor.  Then my son sees it as the roach darts out and I take chase firing attack after attack before finally smacking it into stillness half way across the floor.  VICTORY IS MINE!!!  Being the reigning champion, I assign my son the task of carcass disposal.  After a minute of resistance, he reluctantly goes to the bathroom coming back with a wad of toilet paper to pick it up with, but as he goes to grab the armored critter, it comes back to life and begins running for one last escape attempt sending my son jumping in the opposite direction; but it’s attempt was in vein and my final attack precise and fatal.  Yes, I AM the champion!

Mother Fudgesnappers, It's Summer Vacation Already!?

It's official.  The 2011-2012 school year is over.  All the children look like this:

Most parents on the other hand, look a little more like this:

The cartoon is a pretty accurate portrayal of how I feel in the summers.  I dread the last day of school, and realized today that I freaking HATE summer vacations.  I am not a teacher or other school personnel so I still have to work.  Knowing that fact, however, does not deter my children from wanting to stay up late, sleep even later, and start harassing me about wanting to go and do what the freak ever comes to their minds the second I walk in the door from the boredom of being home all day.  Add to that I think there's a daily tornado that sweeps through my house during the summer months.  I mean really kids...you're sitting here bored out of your mind; the least you could do is clean up your messes before I get home.  I mean, do you like when I turn into Drill Sergeant Mom?

I think my son turns into this pig the moment the door shuts in the morning

Weekends are a whole other beast.  After a boring and uneventful week of no school and too much time in the house, they want to run, run, run.  Me, not so much. I want to relax after a long week, but that's just not gonna happen if the kids are home.  I bet pharmaceutical companies have a dramatic increase in anti-anxiety medications during the summer months.  Parents popping Zanex and Valium like it's candy wishing it wouldn't make them shitty parents to drug their children instead.  Oh...and then there's the grocery bill.

I swear, it's like growing kids can just eat and eat away the paychecks.  Living in such a rural area, there are not a whole lot of activities for them to get into during the days, so they make up for it by eating their boredom away, and I pay dearly for that boredom. 

Thankfully, summer will not last forever, and the day I look forward to all summer will come again...the first day of school.  Hopefully I can make it through the summer without feeling the need to strangle the kids too many times and they will enjoy that glorious first day with all their limbs and teeth.  Only time will tell.

 

And just in case you were wondering if I ever got my mom of the year award...check out what the little tornado gave me for Mother's Day.

Oh yeah!  I knew it was only a matter of time.  Thanks son!

Party Like A Rockstar!!

The last weekend in April was a music packed time full of great friends, family, loud music, and partying like a rock star.  Any of you who read Boots to No Boots...Music, Tequila and Epileptic Dancing probably remember my friends, The DB Bryant Band. 

If you’ve never heard these guys, check them out. They’re awesome!

They were back in town that weekend and once again, the party had begun.  This time, the band parked their trailer at my BFF and her husband’s home, so the party didn’t stop when the bars closed. 

They arrived in town for their first night of playing on Wednesday, and played at several different locations continuing until Saturday night.  So after three nights of partying like rock stars (two of which I had to work the next day), I spent the night at my BFFs house Friday night and awoke early with Little Love to look at all the pics we had taken.  We then all lounged around by the pool for a few hours (none of us are as young and babeilicious as we once were so no pics were taken).  Don’t think I got off that easy though.  My pool lounging time was short lived before I had to accompany man friend to a fund raising event in Savannah.  Tired and dragging ass, we made the hour and a half long drive to Savannah, driving by our destination twice before finally finding it.  It was a low country boil for a union employee who’d been seriously injured on the job.  We pigged out, made our contribution, then headed back to Onion City for our last night with the DB Bryant Band. 

That Saturday was probably the only Saturday night out that I was glad that bars closed at midnight, because after four days of late nights and tequila I was wore out…but my weekend wasn’t over yet.  My cousin would be at my house at about 6 a.m. to pick me up for a drive to Jacksonville, FL where we’d be attending the hard rock festival “Welcome to Rockville” featuring 15 bands including Korn, Evanescence, POD, Shinedown, Trivium, Halestorm, Five Finger Death Punch, and many more.  Oh the horrors of my life!  (I know, it’s rough to have so much awesome shit to do!)

We arrive in the Jacksonville Beach area at about 9:00 a.m.  The festival doesn’t begin until about 11:30, but we were meeting my cousin’s longtime friend, gonna grab a bite to eat, find our hotel and then get there early so we could find decent parking.  Cuz’s biggest bitch about when they went last year was that it cost $8-10 for a drink so it cost him a shit-ton of money and he barely caught a buzz, so he had a plan this year…tailgating with beer and whiskey and going IN with a buzz. 

We arrived in time to find decent parking and the party begun.  I love to people watch, so watching the people come strolling in was awesome.  There were people from all walks of life walking by us, or parked and partying near us.  From the freaks with so many piercings in their faces and ears that they could make swiss cheese jealous, to the purple spiked mohawk wearers and the old hippies with the long dirty matted hair, it was a regular smorgasbord of freaks to look at, then mix in the girls of all ages dressed from hookers to hard core rockers or swiss cheese wannabes…it was fantastic! 

We sat on the tailgate of Cuz’s truck drinking a beer pointing out different people, me occasionally feeling the need to roll the guys’ tongues back into their mouths for fear someone would trip over them as they drooled over scantily clad young ladies wearing skirts that any shorter would have been belts.  Cuz’s 17 year old son was with us, and he decided he’d had enough tailgating and went on in to listen to the beginning bands (which we could hear just fine from the tailgate with our cooler) so he left us and the whiskey was brought out.  Shortly after, a homeless black man comes walking by with a plastic bag and Cuz decides to befriend the man and offers him a beer.  When we decided to go inside, the homeless man was left in charge of watching the truck and making sure no one messed with it…for a small fee of course.

Cuz was already tore up, and in the mood to mosh.  For those of you who don’t know what moshing is, or a mosh pit, it’s a bunch of angry men who basically beat the shit out of each other as they jump and bang into one another, moving around in a circular pattern to the music, usually in the middle of a large crowd of people.  It’s like head banging on steroids.  Oh, and there seems to be an unspoken but widely understood rule in moshing that the moshers cannot wear shirts. 

The first band we see is Trivium, followed by POD.  Since a mosh pit had yet to be found, Cuz decides to create one…right next to me.  Suddenly there are a bunch of half-naked men, violently jumping and bumping into each other (and me) as they widen the area in the middle of the large group of concert goers and more and more violent men join in.  Trying to put some distance between me and them and not be caught in the middle of this, Cuz’s friend steps between me and the moshers playing interference, steps on my shoe, and as I try and step back, POP…broken shoe.  I was already wearing the WRONG shoes to begin with for such an event, but now I was wearing no shoes, and the afternoon was just beginning. 

Oh well, I tuck my shoes into my belt and carry on barefoot!  Within minutes, Cuz resurfaces blood coming out of his mouth, smiling wickedly like a mad man with blood in his teeth, then jumps back in for round two.  When he resurfaced after round two with a badly injured knee he came to the realization that he wasn’t as young and in shape as the guys in the pit and had enough moshing, so we went to find a spot to rest and some ice for his knee.

After insisting that he put the ice on his knee I went in search of food.  Food and the pain to his knee had a sobering effect on Cuz and we had a fairly uneventful rest of the evening as we danced and swayed to the music of Halestorm, Evanescence, Five Finger Death Punch and then Shinedown.  They were all awesome, but Shinedown was very interactive and a lot of fun.  We were fairly close to the stage and packed in like sardines with thousands of people trying to get closer and closer.  The lead singer starts giving the crowd instructions like when to sway, when to jump, when to put an arm around the concert goer to this side or that.  People were being passed overhead from all directions and you had to be on the lookout or they could be dropped on your head if you didn’t help pass them over (which happened a couple times before I got smart and started watching behind me). It was a lot of fun, but I was just sure I was gonna have a broken toe or ten out of it before it was over.  Luckily I escaped with only a few minor bruises and scratches.

By the end of Shinedown, we were pooped and decided to find a seat and sit Korn out while we waiting on the teenage son.  The next day I realized two things…1)  I am not a teenager anymore and my rockstar filled weekend had wore me slap out; and 2) I really appreciate a good weekend where I can get in some good quality drool time with my pillows.  When I finally made it home the next day, I lazed around trying to recover before I began another work week.  It was a great weekend, but boy I was glad it was over.

Stolen Cameras and Pin Up Pictures

The past several weeks have been like a figurative roller coaster ride for me.  Filled with ups and downs, tears and laughter, then throw in a few free-falling “oh shit” moments just to keep it exciting.  It would take a novel to tell all that’s taken place, and since I’m too lazy to write one, and you’re too lazy to read one, I’ll just tell you how they began. 

 

 

A few weeks ago when leaving the house for work, I entered my (unlocked) car and found that someone had been in it.  My glove box and center console where open and documents that had been in them were in disarray on the floorboard.  Nothing was broken, and at first I didn’t think there had been anything in it of value to steal.  That is until about 2 days later.

 

 

I have a very nice camera that gets invited to all sorts of fun events, to which I’m forced to tag along.  I love taking pictures and capturing moments in people’s lives preserving the memory forever.  It’s a passion of mine.  When preparing for a community event which I was working, my heart hit my asshole as I remembered the last time I’d had my camera and didn’t remember bringing it in the house.  That had been the night BEFORE I’d found my car riffled through.  My camera set up alone is worth several thousand dollars, which should be reason enough for my heart and asshole to console each other, but it gets worse…WAY worse.

 

 

A few days prior, kids were with their dad and my man-friend and I were having a couple drinks, being a little frisky.  It was late in the evening, night was black, there was a cool breeze blowing and since my back yard is secluded, we went outside.  I was wearing nothing but a pair of panties and a beer that was better clothed than I in a red Budweiser coozie.  We were talking about an event I’d photographed, and I was showing him pictures on my camera.  Being playful, he takes the camera and snaps a few very risqué shots of me sitting on a chair, in nothing but my thong panties, with my feet propped up on the table and the beer bottle in my hand.

Sitting in one of these chairs with my feet propped up on this table,

I felt a sort of sickness when I realized, a) my camera…probably my most valued possession had been stolen, and b) that there were almost naked pictures in the camera that were now in the possession of some strange person I could not identify.  When imagining my mortification, keep in mind that I live in a rather rural community where if don’t know someone, you know their mother, brother, son or cousin…if not all of them.

 

 

After the waves of panic released me, I called man-friend and told him.  I think his heart and asshole had a quick consoling session as well, before HE called and reported the camera stolen.  I didn’t have the serial numbers off hand, and needed to find them.  A couple days later, I get a call from the investigator man-friend had spoken to.  I’ve known this investigator for years both socially and professionally.  He asks me if I’ve yet come in and file an official report on the camera.  I told him I’d not gotten the serial number yet, so he takes some basic information asking me make and model, etc.  After answering his questions, I tell him I’ll get him the serial number later that day, to which he kinda clears his throat, and says, “Well…um…I really don’t need it now.  Can you come up here?”

 

 

I felt the blood leave my face and my mouth went dry as I realized that my camera, with me in all my glory, was now in the hands of my local rural police department.  I had mixed emotions, in that I was super happy that I’d get my camera back, less happy about having the local law enforcement know what I looked like in a pair of panties.  I took a deep breath, put on my big girl panties, and said “Oh lord.” He kinda chuckles saying only, “Yep.”  After asking how much ribbing I was in for he assured me that he’d “try” and be professional. 

 

 

I had a 20 minute ride from work to the police station, and about half way there I realized it is what it is, and just busted up laughing.  No amount of stress or embarrassment was going to undo or change anything, and as I thought about going into the PD I just laughed thinking only I could get myself into these predicaments.   

That's about what I looked like as I'm driving down the road ALONE,
people looking at me like I was retarded or something

I arrived at the PD and asked to see my friendly investigator and was immediately told to go on back.  I’d hoped I’d find him in his tiny private office where he usually hid, but was instead directed to the conference room where he and four other officers were sitting around the table with a pile of electronic equipment.  I had to temporarily tighten my big girl britches before walking in. 

When I walked in, I couldn’t help but get a little smirk as he looked at me.  He quickly looked away and threw his hand up between us in a mocking gesture, to which I retorted, “Don’t go acting all shy now, at least I have clothes on this time!”  The whole room just burst out laughing, and the initial tension was gone.

 

 

I sat around the table with the investigators and was filled in on the bust and what had been recovered, etc.  Then I was asked to identify my camera and check the contents of the case, etc.  I continued to laugh and cut up with them, picking on myself before they could, which prompted another investigator to tell the story of how my camera was identified as mine.  I guess he, someone I don’t know, was looking through the pictures on my card to see if he recognized anyone.  When he got to the risqué ones, he said “Whoa!” which prompted my friendly to look over at the viewing window.  He exclaimed, “Wait! Go back! Oh my God, I know her!”  His fellow officers instantly wanted to know HOW he knew me, and how WELL he knew me.  His answer, “We’ve drank a few beers together.” BEEP, wrong answer!  Did I mention that I had a beer in my hand in these pictures?  They immediately start teasing him about taking the pictures himself.  So we spend a few minutes with them quizzing me about what kinda beer I was drinking under that coozie to see if it was my friendly brand (it wasn’t). 

 

 

Just because I didn’t want to experience all the ribbing myself, I had my friendly call and raz man-friend.  He teased him about finding some almost pornographic photos on a camera and wanted to know if he knows anything about them.  After first denying, man-friend finally realizes that there’s no point, and tells the friendly that he was worried about the possibility of my camera getting stolen and took those pictures for identification purposes only.  We all got a good laugh, but for some reason, man friend refused to come up to the PD.  Go figure!

 

 

The investigator who’d originally been looking through the pics looks at me shaking his head and says, 100 people could come walking through that door with this same situation, and I don’t think any of them would handle this as great as you are; to which I quickly retorted, “Oh believe me, if I thought coming in here in raging bitch mode would have put my clothes on in those pictures, I’d have been a bitch on wheels!” 

We were wrapping it up and I was telling them how happy I was that they’d recovered my camera, even at the expense of my own indecent exposure, when my friendly says, “You owe me a beer.” To which his fellow investigator, without missing a beat replies, “I wanna know how the hell SHE owes YOU a beer after you saw HER naked!?” RIGHT!!!  I told him he owed me a case at least! We all bust out laughing and I got up to leave.  As I was walking toward the door, I turned back to the table of officers and said, “This is normally the point where I’d say something witty like ‘glad you got to see me’, but you’ll understand that in this situation…I’m not so much.”  They all just shook their heads laughing as I left the PD.

 

 

After work that evening, I had to go to Wally World for a few items, and who to my continued embarrassment is walking around Walmart?  You guessed it…my friendly AND his wife.  So I’m hoping not to have a continuation of the day’s earlier conversations, and it looked like I was almost in the clear, until I turned around and there he stood, with his wife out of sight, looking directly at me raising his hands as if holding a camera and mocked taking a picture.  “Has anyone told you you’re an asshole today?”  That was the best I could do before breaking out into semi-embarrassed laughter.  We chatted for a few minutes and then went our separate ways.

I know you’re thinking, how could I possibly have anything else to add to this story?  That would be because you don’t know my friends.  Later that night, man-friend and I meet some friends for karaoke.  I’m telling them about the events of my day while I wait to be called to the microphone.  We’re all laughing at my expense.  A little bit after telling them of my humbling day, I get summoned to the microphone for my turn: “Next up, is the Police Pin-Up Queen!”  Yeah, my friends can be real asshats, but you gotta love ‘em! 

 

 

That was just the start of the novel that has been my last few weeks.  Oh yeah, and I’ve now got a new nickname…PPQ.

Brain Tickling, Nose Picking, Prius Driver

About a week ago, after a long days work, I stopped at a drive through to pick up dinner before heading home.  While riding home through town, I approached a stop light and noticed a blue Prius with out of town tags in the next lane. 

As I pulled up beside this wimpy looking little car, I couldn’t help but notice the good looking man driving it.  Several thoughts went through my head in the span of a few seconds.  Despite having the Justin Moore song “Bait A Hook” playing on the radio (which could have been written about this obviously eco-conscious hottie) I found myself wondering if his good looks were enough to overlook the fact that he was driving a Prius.  I was about to look up Henry County (the county on his tag) to see how geographically inconvenient he was when it happened…Mr. Eco-Conscious Hottie picked his nose.   

You might be asking yourself, what’s the big deal?  I mean, people pick their noses every day, right?  Well yes, but NOT like this man was doing.  He stuck his finger in his nose so deep I swear if there was anything on the end of it when he pulled it out, it wouldn’t have been boogers, but brain matter.  I cringed and told myself to look away, but instead sat there unable to look away in morbid amazement as I watched him massage his brain.  It wasn’t a quick dig and pick, but a long whole arm moving affair.  I went between wanting to honk the horn and throw a box of Kleenex at his car (though I was afraid I’d break the window of the tiny thing if I did) and wondering what part of his brain he was rubbing?  Maybe he was rubbing the part that controlled his penis and was masterbating through his nose…I wouldn’t want to disturb him in the middle, though he might appreciate the Kleenex in a couple minutes.  The light was taking forever to change, and this man kept his finger up his nose, rotating it right, then left, then right again.

Just when I thought this guy surely couldn’t stand much more brain manipulating, he used his free hand to adjust his mirror and started watching himself pick his nose.  OH MY GOD!!!  Do you think you’re fucking invisible in that car?  Do you not realize that there are people all around you, at least one of whom is WATCHING you massage your brain through your nose?  I mean, MY GOD!!!  And what was he looking for in the mirror?  Did he have some rogue booger he was pursuing…Some booger playing hop scotch with his finger, saying “You can’t catch me finger! Hahahaha” (Oh wait, those are just MY boogers that do that).  But SERIOUSLY…get your freaking finger out of your nose!

The light finally changed and I punched the gas, leaving the little Prius and the brain tickling driver behind.  I also realized that it didn’t matter how geographically inconvenient he was or what he drove because I was no longer thinking of him as a hottie…to me he would always be the guy who masterbates through his nose.

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The Sh** I Don't Get Done Because My Life Gets In The Way

My house is a pig sty.  It’s positively horrible.  While I’m sure the laundry is in baskets, I seem to have lost the baskets (or maybe the clothes have eaten them).  My floors are in serious need of cleaning and are beginning to make this squishy sticky sound when you walk on them with soft soled shoes, and between the pollen and the dust, my pictures now look out of focus. 

I need this sign for my front door!

Why, you ask?  Because my life doesn’t stand still long enough for me to catch up (and because I’m irresponsible, selfish and lazy; use whichever excuse you prefer).  I really do want to have a spotless house, but my damn life keeps getting in the way!

Can I get an AMEN?  This makes me feel so much better about myself!

I am a working single mother of two children.  I enjoy being part of my kids lives and participating in the things they enjoy and are active in. I love to bring a camera and document every cool experience they have.  I also like to do volunteer work at times as it helps me deceive myself into thinking I am an unselfish person giving back to my community.  Despite working full time, having two children with their various extracurriculars, I have a very active social life separate and independent from my children.  Sometimes, however, all these different facets which make up the complete diamond that is my life, leave little time to handle the shit that simply won’t handle itself.  Hell, I barely have any time for sleep.

In the past week alone, aside from working full time and having to make sure kids are fed and educated, I have had the following activities: 1) Volunteered at a Red Cross Blood Drive; 2) Attended a sex toy party (Read all about it!); 3) Chaperoned a school field trip for my daughter;

I got to ride the short bus.  I felt so special!

4) Went to a St. Patty’s day bonfire;  5) Took my son out to dinner for a little quality time; 6) Had dinner with my out of town Aunt who was passing through town; 6) Went to play pool with my man friend (and Jose’…how I love him); 7) Took son to tutor twice; and 7) Sang Karaoke with several friends (and Jose’). 

Did I mention I work full time?  When the hell am I supposed to get housework and laundry done?  I mean, these things were WAY more fun than cleaning! (I know I’m immature and irresponsible…I’ll own it.)

The Jetsons (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

When I was young, I used to love the cartoon, “The Jetsons”.  I dreamed of the day that we’d have flying cars and robot maids.  As I walked through my pig sty of a house this morning, I found myself angry that I didn’t have a Rosie the Robot maid (Damn you Jetsons for giving me false hope as a child of a future with no housework!) 

Then I thought, why settle for a Rosie?  With all the technological and biological advances of the day, I want a clone…another me to handle all the shit I don’t have time or desire to handle myself.   I’d give clone Blondie my to-do list and head off to the life that prevents me from  having the empty laundry baskets, sparkling floors and dust free book shelves and picture frames I desire.  Sweeping and mopping, check!  Dusting, check!  Yard work, check!  Laundry, double CHECK!!!  It would be awesome!  But then if it was really a clone of ME, in no time she’d be so busy, SHE’D need a clone.  Before you know it, there’d be like 10 clones and the house would still be a pig sty.  Then there’s the real question…could the world handle two (much less 10) of me?  My family and friends would probably shutter at the very idea. 

No, the world is NOT ready for more of me!

So with no robot maid or clone around to do the shit that I have neglected to do this week, I suppose I’m gonna have no choice but to tell the rest of the world to fuck off for a weekend, get some sleep and clean my own damn house.  Damn you Jetsons!

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Dueling Dildo Defeat

Fridays I usually only work half a day, which is great because it allows me to get things done that I don’t usually have time for during the week, but this Friday I was scheduled to volunteer at a Red Cross Blood Drive and attend a Pure Romance party with girlfriends afterwards. I left work about 1:30, went to the bank and headed over to get ready for the blood drive. I worked there until a little after 5, then had to rush back to town to buy tickets I was supposed to get two weeks ago (sorry Auntie, but you know if it weren’t for last minute, I wouldn’t get a damn thing done!) before the selling business closed. I made it with only about a minute and thirty seconds to spare. It was now after 5:30 and while my kids had activities for the evening, I needed to get them fed before hand, and I was now running behind for my next obligation. I hurriedly rush through the Wendy’s drive-thru, rush home, throw the food on the table, run a brush through my hair, and I’m off to my next event.

In case you’ve never heard of a Pure Romance party, it is basically a sex toy and lingerie party, usually attended only by women. At this particular party there were plenty of appetizers, and lots of alcohol in the form of various jello shots and tequila balls to get everyone loosened up. Then the games begin. Games include things such as an addition and subtraction of points based on sexual experiences to give you your kink score (mine wasn’t the highest, but it wasn’t too shabby either!); a suck and blow relay race where two lines are formed and jello shots in containers which open on both sides must be past down the line; and my personal favorite…pass the double headed dildo using only your legs, done music musical chairs style.

Just imagine 20 women standing in a circle…the music comes on, the double headed dildo hangs from between the first woman’s legs, as she swings to face the opposite direction then swings it upward using only her legs and thrusts of her hips (touching with hands disqualifies); the woman next to her quickly trying to capture it between her thighs, then swing around to pass it to the woman on her other side. Because this double headed dildo is so long and floppy, in order to pass it and the recipient to catch it above the knees as the rules require, each person passing must sling it up, and the person receiving must spread their legs and bend down then snap their legs shut at just the right time. However, neither wants to be the one holding it when the music stops. When the music stops, the woman who’s thighs contain the dildo is disqualified, the circle tightens and the cycle continues. Faster and faster, more and more frantically these alcohol loosened women try not be caught with the dildo in their possession when the music turns off, sometimes causing someone to drop it or touch it with their hands…oops, they are out too. The game continues until it is down to only two people. Who might you ask were these two unfortunate souls who are in the show down dildo battle? You guessed it…me and another blondie.

And it can be yours for the bargain price of $29.00!

Now all eyes are on us. The other blondie and I facing each other in a sort of vertical missionary position,thrusting the dildo back and forth in frantic, exaggerated motions…back and forth, back and forth, the dildo swinging from my thighs to her thighs, with all the onlookers laughing their asses off…then the music stops...and the dildo hangs from my legs. I drop my head in dildo defeat and then commence to drown myself in more alcohol!

After suffering my dildo defeat, we all sit in a semi-circle and begin passing around all sorts of fun things; small button size vibrating devises, incognito lipstick looking pleasure bringers, big who needs a man vibrators, tasty warming lubricants, throat numbing gels (lmao…that one still gets me…they’ve thought of everything!!), massage oils and candles. Because this is a hands and mouth on experience, we are tasting the tastable gels, rubbing the non tastables on our arms, smelling the smellables, playing with the power settings of the various vibrating contraptions of sensual satisfaction. I even had a conversation with a dildo which had a face on it, and unlike a man, it didn’t talk back or argue! I think it was love at first sight!

What, might you ask, did I buy?  None of your business!  That shall remain a secret as a woman's toy drawer is sacred, known only to her and her playmate...and the 20+ other women that are there when she fills it.

And the Liebster Award Goes To...

Having had only a few hours sleep the night before, yesterday was a very long day.  All day I found myself thinking of how neglected my bed pillows have been this week, and how I planned to make up for it last night.  Despite being super busy dealing with dumbasses all day at work and wishing that there was some sort of aptitude test that could be given to individuals before they were given a voice box, the day drug on and on.  The clock ticked slowly, and then slower still; the sound almost hypnoticly causing a fluttery dance between my upper and lower eyelid as I struggled to keep them apart.  When the work day was finally coming to an end I had visions of going home and engaging in some quality drool time with my pillows, but my mother and a friend hijacked my evening requiring me to come eat Mexican food and drink margaritas (I know, it’s a tough life).  By the time I got home, put kids to bed, and took a minute to sit down and unwind, I was seriously battling fatigue.

Once again my pillows were calling my name, one saying “Blondie, come let me hold your head in a tender embrace as you drift off to sleep.”  My leg pillow saying, “You know how you love me between your legs.” I was clearly hearing them in my head, but was disturbed by the chiming of my phone with an email of a new comment to my blog from Roe (I LOVE comments). 

My spirits were lifted and I was refreshed when I discovered that Roe, incredibly funny author of the blog “My Upside Down Life”, had given me the Liebster Award in her pick of 5 favorite bloggers.  Yay me!  So today, feeling extremely honored, I am charged with accepting the award and passing it to five of my favorite bloggers.

I would like to thank Roe for bestowing on me such a fabulous honor, and for lifting my spirits after an otherwise long day.    Roe is a kindred spirit who’s blogs always bring me smiles and laughter.  I love her observational humor about everyday life and her quirky, sometimes smartass take on it. 

The Liebster Award is meant to be given to bloggers with less than 200 followers.  In passing the torch, I’ve been thinking and reading all morning and I pass the Liebster Award to the following bloggers:

RachRiot.  Rach is a fabulous person with a great sense of humor.  I’ve yet to read anything she’s written that I don’t find myself laughing aloud and sharing with my friends and family.

Because Nobody Likes Mondays.  Heather is very awesomely funny, and you don’t have to enter a damn captcha to comment (I hate those things)!

Who Woulda Thought.  Kevin is a 34 year old man, and in addition to being funny, has a great way allowing me to see things from a man’s perspective.

The Incoherent Ramblings of aMoose.  I just discovered this blog, but it is already becoming one of my favorites as I swear when I read her blog, I wonder if there’s a camera in my house and she’s writing about my life, or if our sons are identical twins by different parents.

Two Too Smart, SmartassMommies.  Another blog that always makes me laugh.

To the newest award recipients, you are charged with the following duties in accepting your award:

Accept your award, thank the person that gave it to you and link back to them on your blog

Nominate 5 other blogs

Leave a comment on their blog telling them about the award

Post the award on your blog

Diarrhea of The Mouth

I realized today that I could really use something between my brain and my mouth, that will stop me from saying half the half the shit I say…a mouth governor of sorts.  A little filter that turns me mute when my brain thinks something completely rude, sarcastic or inappropriate (though admittedly, that would mean I’d be mute A LOT!)  I guess you could say I have diarrhea of the mouth.  If I think it, I’m probably going to say it, and even worse, I’m probably going to find myself entertaining and not change it without an intervention, such as a mouth governing filter.  Here are a few examples of times I probably would have been mute so far this week, with a few humorous conversations thrown in.

Random shit I've said this week, with or without thinking:

The only thing he’s sick with is dumbass disease.

 Don’t look at me in that tone of voice.

 You get called an asshole a lot, don’t you? (Is this the same thing as calling him and asshole?  Hmmmm.)

I am a homosexual man, trapped in this body.

The most successful intimate relationship I’ve had has been with my dildo.

If I wanted to hear from an asshole, I’d fart.

You’re so full of shit your eyes are brown.

I’m not your type…I’ve got a brain.

Don’t think of yourself as short…just vertically challenged.

They’re either fucking or fighting, but can’t make up their minds about which they want to do when.

Conversations with or about my kids:

Me and my 11 year old son after he heard me refer to a very yummy food as a mouth-gasm on the phone:

Son: MOM!!!  You said orgasm!

Me: No I didn’t.  I said mouth-gasm.
Son: NO YOU DIDN’T!!! You said ORGASM!
Me: Son, you wouldn’t know an orgasm if it jumped up and squirted you in the eye!

Yes, I’m waiting on my mother of the year award any day now.

Son: Can I sleep with you tonight?

Me: No.
Son: Please?
Me: No
Son: Pretty please?  Can I please sleep with you?
Me:  No, now go to bed.
Son: (As he walks down the hall with slumped shoulders, puppy in hand, he stops, turns around, glares at me, then says to the puppy) See that woman?  I know you love her, but she’s not mama…she’s a mean blonde headed monster. (Well thank you for noticing, son)

After an argumentative phone call with my son about going to his tutor

Friend: Don’t you love kids? (sarcasm noted)
Me: Yeah…I’d love to drown them!

(For some reason I still haven’t gotten that mother of the year award.  Maybe it will be in the mail tomorrow.)

Morning People Beware

While I tend to be a pretty easy going person, there are a couple things that I absolutely hate and that turn me into a grumpy bitch.  In the top three of that list are Mondays and mornings, but number one would be morning people.  Folgers commercials really urk me, especially today, since it’s both Monday AND morning, and their commercials are filled with morning people.  UUUUGGGGG!!

As I was on my way to work, I found myself thinking of the Folgers commercial where everyone starts dancing thinking, I dare someone to burst out in spontaneous dance singing, “The best part of waking up, is Folgers in your cup.” I’d steal their coffee, make them fall on their face, and jump on their backs with my high heeled shoes. Damn morning people!  Then realizing that it’s hard to trip someone and steal their coffee while driving, I decided I’d just run them over yelling, “There’s no Folgers in your cup now, mf’er! Ah Ha Ha Ha Ha”  Ok, Maybe I’m a little diabolical in my thinking, I thought briefly as I arrived at work. This is until, while looking for the Folgers dancing commercial, I found this (Commercial doesn’t really begin for about 12 seconds):

Oh my freaking gosh!  My favorite part of the whole commercial is when the dog growls at the sinister yellow, morning person.  I found myself hoping the dog would bite her.  Since I know I am not alone in my morning bitchitis, if these creepers went on a morning Folgers campaign there would be loads of dead yellow people littering the world. 

I could just imagine being the couple sleeping in bed when some random creeper decked in yellow with an overly chipper demeanor appears in my room, mere inches from my face, singing “Happy Morning!!! Happy Morning!!!  Wake up you sleepy head, you can sleep when you are dead!”  Oh hell no!  I can sleep when YOU are dead.  Meet my pistol.  Officer I swear it was self defense.  I woke up and he was in my bedroom serenading me.  I thought he was a rapist or serial killer.   

Or what about the sinister yellow dudes spying through the sky light on the guy taking a shower, then you see their hands coming down around him?  Are you freaking kidding me!?  Having that many hands around my naked body might be fun in some sort of kink session, but we’re talking about mornings here, and those hands are in serious danger of being severed from the bodies they’re attached to.  I’d then use their severed limbs to beat the barrage of sinister yellow morning people milling around the roads harassing the morning grumps.

So to all you morning people out there…be kind to the morning grumps and keep your chipper morning attitudes to yourself.  Remember that there are people out there, much like myself, who will hate you just for not hating mornings.  These people, suffering from morning bitchitis, are capable of things you’d never think them capable of in their normally chipper selves.  If you absolutely must burst out into spontaneous song or dance with your coffee…drink your coffee at home...with your blinds drawn, because you never know when we’ll be looking to mow some chipper person down with our cars or massage their back with our spiked heels, just for being chipper.