Twothousandandthirteen.

Riot got his first hair-do. A mullet, of course.

 

 

He also began his hockey career this year.

 

 

Girth and I made through one more year as best friends.

 

 Past, present, and pyramids. Almost positive that anyone who has come over, I have forced into making a drunken pyramid. They are my favorite. Thinking about 2012 wrapping up, I thought of how those pyramids were some of the funnest times. So, I have compiled a pyramid collection. New friends, old friends, and family. They all give a hard time over pyramid building, but I know they secretly love it. Their faces are undeniable. So, not just this past year, but every last passing year, I am thankful for knowing the best people in all the land.

They give me birthday pyramids and just because pyramids when no one is around, because they love me.

They do enjoy this, I knew it.

 

Sometimes we are triumphant.

 

It did not end well with Girth hopping up top.

Love. Love. Love.

 

As for New years resolutions, I'm probably not going to bother to lie about any. I might lose weight, I might not, maybe I will clean-up my trash mouth, maybe I won't. Who knows. My entire life's resolution is to just be happy, and that isn't something I need to make a goal of every year.

The people I surround myself make it effortless.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The day after X-mass has nothing to do with X-mass.

I swear on the biggest wiener in the world, the devil himself is using my vagina to escape the depths of hell. I have not had a period in close to four months, and all of a sudden I gained six pounds in two days, and look as though I am in the second trimester of pregnancy. It is horrendous. I am bleeding like a stuffed pig and I swear to all the things holy, from my knees to my tits, it feels like someone beat me with a mother truckin' bat. Not only that, but I have a sweet fever blister on my lip from the sudden hormonal surge. Fat chance of explaining that off though, I look like a walking advertisement for a herpes commercial. Pretty sure I am knocking on deaths door. I am flying through cooter corks like they are candy and my ovaries are relentless. I want nothing more than to rip my uterus out, punch it to death, stuff it, and hang it on the wall in triumph. There is also a kink in my neck that makes me feel as though I need to crack it repeatedly, but hurts, but I keep doing it anyways. Not exactly the kind of "hurts so good" that I like, but whatever. Such a masochist. Also, burnt my hand on my straightener today. Batting a thousand. The fact that someone bought Girth a bottle of liquor for X-mass brightens my horizon though. As well as the fact that Christmas Day was enjoyable. The day after though, today, is fucking ridiculous. If my vagina does not stop spurting blood like a god damn horror movie, I really don't know what I will do. I am so angry about my vagina that I actually took our tree down today. That never happens until at least New Years. Never have I wished so hard for a penis of my own in my entire life. Right now I wouldn't even care if I had a small wiener instead of a big salami. I just don't want to be a messy menstruater anymore.

 

 

Top 5.

I decided to do Top 5 grossest moments of people that I know. Naturally, I am surrounded by a bunch of sick-os. So, here are the stories that people gave me. Number 5 being a hogepodge of things from a few people, then the countdown to the number one best moment that people are glad never happened to them.


5. Anytime backdoor action is involved, their is potential for the terrifying moment of the withdrawal. Poop dick is no joke. Who cleans it? Who's fault is it?
Get all drunk and think your a sexy wild cat crawling across the bed, only to fall off onto your face and ruin the moment by getting all bloodied up.
Locked out of your dorm room naked while drunk, thinking that making a dash to your car because you might have a change of clothes in there...yeah, wicked good thinking.


 4. A couple of guys go for a night on the town, they find a couple of ladies. Back at the room, they get it on. Hook-ups, one night stands, whatever. The problem actually doesn't arise until the morning. The four of them are trying to enjoy breakfast together and the one dude looks like he murdered someone the night before...hands all covered in dried blood. Of course a production was made because he though he was actually wounded. The revelation did not take long to travel around the table to the girl with embarrassment written across her face.

3. Once there was a girl, who in her twenties had yet to ever wear a tampon. I also happen to be a part of this story. So, at Fairhaven one day, she wants to use one to swim, so I tell her how to cram it in. Throughout the day she is bitching and I just figure she is being a pussy. But, when we go to leave, in he parking lot with our bathingsuits on, she starts freaking out and needs the tampon out of her. Won't walk, won't move, just starts tugging on it. Panic sets in, because she can't get it out. This is where she enlists me. Behind the car door in the parking lot, I am trying to spring a tampon from her muff. It really wouldn't budge. Finally, after thinking I was ripping off her vagina, it flew out. Applicator and all...I have idiot friends.

2. A lady I know, had some sex. She forgot to take out her tampon, for what I believe was an inebriated sex sesh. After the sex, she popped in another tampon. None the wiser, a couple days passed by before she started to smell "something". With a little research, she detected the source. The forgotten cork. Jammed pretty much up to her throat, it seem irretrievable. No fear though, her husband dug it out while she straddled his poor head. The smell, the view, the trauma. I would have beat her to death with it, instead he has kept her and loved her for 20+ years. He is a trooper.

 1. There's a dad, that a girl I know thinks is quite handsome. Well, said girl was strolling through her house with her hand down the front of her pants. Apparently she just likes to occasionally pet her muffin. Well, she had no idea that someone was at her front door, in the summertime, when he could clearly see into her house. She is not positive she was seen, though chances are extremely slim that he did not see her pass by...what she is positive of though, is that she had to write him out a certain something that he came there for...with her filthy little cooter diddling paw.

 

Tasty Tuesday.

 I decided a Hollywood,"To Do List" would be nice. So, included are the ones I find to be completely irresistible along with some of the dirty things I would allow them to do to me. I am of course speaking of filthy sexual activities, so naturally I would make them take me to dinner first.

Johnny Depp. I don't think there has been a moment in his life where he was not hot. He can probably screw for hours on end. I'd let him toss me around, shit, I'd let him throw me through god damn wall.

Charlie Hunnam. He is badass and hot as fuck. He's is pretty violent on his show, but that really doesn't deter me at all. I'd let him punch me right in the jibs...with his wiener...BOOM! 

 

 

 Joaquin Phoenix. Seriously. His eyes demand that your jeans hit the floor, and your ankles touch your ears within 2.4 seconds. I have no issues with that, morally or physically.
Count. Me. In.

 

 

 

Adam Levine. This man absolutely exudes sexiness. I am absolutely certain that I would let him exude that sexiness all over my face. Filthy? Perhaps. Call me what you will. Look at him though...it's insane. He probably smells like sex.



 

 

Gina Gershon. Was this one a shocker because she doesn't have a wiener? Then I guess that makes "shocker" kind of ironic, now doesn't it? Shockers and scissoring. She is the hottest woman on the planet, and I had a huge high school girl crush on her.

 

 Ryan Gosling. Are you kidding me? There isn't anything I would say no to. He can punch me in the face and put it in my butt. I don't care if he wants to chop me up and wear my skin. LOOK at him. Outstanding.

 

 

 

Now, to round it out to an even 10...there is:

 

7. Bruce Willis

 

8. Michael Pitt

 

9. Josh Holloway

 

10. Billy Zane

 

 

These last four, I would dry hump to oblivion.

 

 

 

So that's that. In reality though, I will not be heading to conquer these fantasies anytime soon. You see, I have Girth. And he has the key to my vagina.

 

 

|

 

Hardy har-har...

My weekend was mostly uneventful. Worked like usual Friday night, went out for a couple drinks Saturday night. Sunday was spent having a movie day. We watched Safety not Guaranteed and Lawless. I can tell you right now, Tom Hardy is probably the lust of my life. I absolutely need him.

I would like to tell you about all of the things I would do to him, but things would get indecent, real quick. If you have no reaction to this gorgeous man, then your vagina is obviously broken. I ruined a pair of pants just looking at these pictures. I bet he can sing to. He probably has the voice of an angel and the cock of a stallion. Well, there goes that. I'm getting way off course from recapping my weekend. Apparently fantasizing about him was the highlight of it. Girth better give me the wiener soon. Aside from all this filth, it was a nice, low-key weekend. On a more emotional aspect, we decided it was time to let go of the people with no time, too many lies and out of order priorities. It's like a weight off our shoulders and our hearts.

Keepin' it light, keepin' it lovey... 

God. I can't stop...

                                                    

 

 

 

I hate you.

Mysterious posting. You know, just the sad face or little bits of information. These statuses are meant to bait people into asking what is going on, otherwise known as attention grabbing. The best part is, telling them it is personal, none of their business, or no one can know. Although those mysterious posts are excellent detectors of snoopy twats.

Tits galore. Tit galore selfies. Many times these are accompanied by non-stop statues about asshole guys, no good ones left, guys are pigs, blah blah blah. Really? So you mean to tell me that your gigantic in your face titty shot bar pic, was meant to lure in the good guys? Stop it. You're retardation is going to land you right into the fuck em' n' chuck em' pile.
 
Constant posts. I don't mean from people at home either. I mean people that are suppose to be someplace having fun. When you are posting and updating every 15 fucking minutes about how awesome what your doing is, you are a god damn liar. People get consumed by awesomeness. Other people might be getting awesome, but you, you are standing there like a boring douchbag playing on Facebook.

Oh so in love. These people are obviously the only ones who have experienced being in love. That's why they have to tell everyone about it all day and all night long, never shutting the fuck up. So lucky, so blessed, so in love, always. Because of your intensity, everyone knows you are only trying to convince yourself. Ladies, if he is that perfect- you shouldn't have any time to even make a Facebook post. Every spare minute should be spent thanking him with sex, sandwiches and blow jobs for making your life so ridiculously magical. Chances are good, if you aren't fucking, sucking and serving, he isn't doing half the things you say anyways.

Things that also need to be managed:

Facebook should be able to sense when the relationship status button is overused and disable it.

Stop telling everyone where you are every single second. The only people who care are the ones looking to murder you and wear your skin.

If you are going to photoshop your selfies, please delete the "before" picture. You look like an idiot.

I wish duck lips could be banned. What's worse though, is the straight faced, dead eyed, come fuck me stare.

Passive-aggressive posting. Bitching about a friends post, without telling them, even though it directly follows their own post. Oh, but you were definitely talking about "someone else".

Posting a status about a bad day...get 50 comments from other people about how much worse their day was. Obviously pity- partying competitions should be an Olympic sport. OH, and the one person who chimes in to let you know to just be greatful for all you are blessed with....eattttttt shiiiiitttttttt.

If you feel offended, you have probably done one of these things...

 

Monday, Monday...

I just got out of the shower, bra only, naked from the waist down. Girth sitting at the computer, me standing right next to him, jabbering about bullshit. He turns his head (becoming eye level with my beautiful box) jumps a smidge, looks up at me with the most disgusted, horrified look on his face and says, "Ew. Your gum is hanging out."
I shamefully exit the room.

Out Saturday night for a friends b-day get together, some real classy broads were shaking their shit. And I do mean intensely...not really well, but you know, with a lot of puss behind it. Against the wall, on all fours, and while there is a fine line between crumping and having a seizure, I will give them the benefit of the doubt. Well, the wild cat in her 50's asked Girth for a dance...
Girth's response, "No, you're greasy.
Wild cat, "WHAT?"
Girth, "I said you're sleazy!"
Wild cat, "WHAT?"
Girth, "You dance nice."
And then he let her drag him out there. Upon doing so, he was immediately marked by her whore scent which must have moved through the air like invisible transmitters, because the rest of her pussy posse was shaking, gyrating, flopping and flailing around him within minutes. I thought I lost him. Thinking quickly though, instead of risking bodily harm, he backed right out the front door, into the dark night. Probably one of the funniest things I have ever witnessed.

Walking home we stop at the 7-11 for some food. Pre-packaged pasta, cashews and a sammy later, we make one last stop for one last drink and some wings. Minutes later we arrived gloriously at our home, where we climbed into bed. And like the disgusting couple we are, we piled all the food in our bed and stuffed ourselves half to death. Good times.

People like this lady make it impossible NOT have a good time...

 

 

 

 

10 Things.

It was recommended that I do at least 10 things you might not know about me. This is actually a smidgen difficult. While I am pretty open about things like the appearance of my asshole, farting, sex, and all other filthy things, I am not so open about legit things. The things I deem private seem to be a bit backwards than the norm. I'll give it a shot though:

1. I often pretend not to notice familiar faces in public, not only to avoid saying hi, but mostly to avoid conversation. I am incredibly awkward and say ridiculous things.

2. I want a friend, that if I banged an entire team, would never tell a soul. A ride or die bitch.

3. I can queef on command.

4. I don't know how to whistle, and if I try for too long, I start to cry.

5. I think I could handle a polygamist marriage, but not if I was the first wife. Maybe number 2 or 3.

6. I'm a serial monogamist. I haven't been single since I was 14. Which is four relationships in 18 years for me. But I have slept with 9 people.

7. I am terrified of beginning a career after graduation.

8. I shake over everything. When I cry, when I am horny, when I am mad, the more intense the feeling, the more I shake. After I had Riot, I shook like a human vibrator.

9. I think that unrequited love is the one of the most heartbreaking things in the world.

10. I write. Alot. I have books of lyrics and poems. I have rarely let Girth even read them.

"She's full of secrets, that's how come her hair is so big..."

 

 

More sleep sexin'

As I mentioned in yesterdays post, I woke up to doing bad things in my sleep again. This time I found myself balls deep (complete pun intended) in the act of fellatio. Girth also awoke during this time, except when he did, it seems that the automatic reaction was to grab me by my hair and nearly kill me. Death by throat-thrust. Jesus, I could have been anyone, he didn't even bother to identify me. Whatever, I'm a team player and went with it. During this time however, a stray hair found its way to the back of my throat. I couldn't get rid of it, so I tried to ignore it...thankfully the beej'ing ended and we got down to business. After that sexcapade, we dozed back to sleep. The next morning, I woke up with a scratchy throat. After coughing, snarling and making other extremely attractive nosies, I gagged and something flew up from the back of my throat. That god damn hair. If it was of proper length, I would have strangled someone with it. Chris was completely disgusted, so much so that I am not sure he will ever allow me to sleep sex him again.  What I learned from this was that he will practically throw me through a wall if he wakes up with me actually on his wiener, but if I am performing oral, it is OK. That doesn't seem very fair. I can only imagine his reaction if we woke up with me crouching my muffin over his face. Pretty sure I wouldn't live to talk about it. Also pretty sure that he'd pummel my prime rib into a sloppy joe.

Sexsomnia. I've got it.

 

The way those days off go...

 Well, I cooked my first Thanksgiving dinner, Girth did the bird and I handled the rest. Full bellies and no deaths reassure me that everything turned out well. The turk actually turned out pretty awesome. We did make a panic call to his mother at 6 in the morning, had no idea what to do with the plastic ties, since they wouldn't budge. Since they apparently stay, Girth ripped out the jibs, and I threw a couple apples in his asshole and we were well on our way.

We skipped out on the Black Friday shopping...no thanks. I have only been once, and it was to Wal-Mart at midnight. The idea of getting shoved and shanked by an over-zealous, over-caffeinated housewife is not my style. The day before, these women are bragging about their perfect life & blessings, but toss a sale in front of them and they will slit your throat like a crazed sociopath. Obviously half priced dollhouses and deeply discounted bath towels trump all safety standards.

Friday, Girth let me lay around all day and watch my show. I did not move off the couch. Friday night I worked, so that was alright. Though, I am a little fearful that my pull-tab addiction could spiral out of control. Also, I have concluded that seeing people come in sober, and progress to being inebriated is like watching them melt.

Saturday, Girth woke me up after telling me I could sleep in. He paid for that for about the next two hours. He then let me sleep in until 11 on Sunday...instant redemption.

One of these nights, I can't remember which, the sleepy-time slut returned. I woke up and I was beej'ing him. He also woke up during this act of sleep-slopping. Maybe I need to be medicated.

I was peeing last night before getting into bed, Girth was staring at me. As I am wiping my va-jay, he says, "I don't know if it is gross the way that girls wipe or if it is just you."

Me, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Girth, "Well, I don't know if it's the wiping or if it is just you that's disgusting".

OK. Well, I am not sure why he even needed to stare me down while I peed and wiped, but whatever.

Mine.

The business of recapping.

A weekend recap. This is what I have been told should be done on Monday mornings. Not a bad idea. What it made me realize however, is that I have a shitty short-term memory.

Friday night: Girth and I played power hour. He found the most wonderful compilation of one minute song snippets, all 80's t.v. theme songs. One hour and 13 beers later, we were retarded. We indulged on chicken enchiladas, I jumped on Youporn, and then he dragged me off the computer by my hair and threw me in bed.

Saturday: We lounged around, hung out, caught up on shows, then napped with our babe. I love it when we are all in the basket. Perfect. Then we went to a Crunch game with a couple friends. Ten dollars a beer means I would rather steal a half empty cup off the floor and drink after the mouth of a stranger, so I didn't drink. However, the girl on the other side of the aisle drank enough for everyone. We watched her sing and point each word out to enunciate it, smack about six different guys in the ass, poke them in the assholes, hop from row to row taking FB pics with them, sit on their laps...yeah. Plus she had on suede stilettos. Who wears fuck me pumps to a hockey game? Oh yeah. The drunk girl, with cork screw curls, dick hopping between two aisles. There was also about 5 hockey fights for that game, so it was an action packed event. Came home, and watched a few episodes of The Office.

Sunday: Ice skating, per usual. Our offspring gets better every time. Then to Oswego where Riot raided grandpas games for a, "wace cah game". He also stole all the change off the table, polished off a container of cheese balls, and got nipped at by my dads fat little pig of a pregnant whore dog, Sadie. She's lucky she missed, or I would have slapped the puppies right out of her. Came home, Girth napped, and then went to his game. Me and my babydoll had a movie night. Then I caught up on Revenge.

There's your recap. Pretty much the life of a rock star.

 

Insanity.

Things that drive me insane:

1. Skinny girls that do fat cries for attention. Reassure yourself and stop being a twat. On second thought, quit using the opinions of others to determine your own self confidence.

2. Taking a shit at someone else's house, you will absolutely have an endless 20 minute sticky shit, where you use every piece of toilet paper available.

3. Pregnant ladies who eat everything in sight because they are, "eating for two". It's unhealthy, for both. You need nourishment for two, but that does not mean your fetus needs its own Big Mac.

4. The fact that I need to pass Statistics for my degree. And any other math related course. When I do begin my career, all of those matters will be shuffled to the accounting department. Bachelors in Business Management = IDoWhatIWant.

5. When people are talking about their child and they say, "MY whoeveritis". Why is the 'my' necessary? You sound like a pretentious mommy dearest.

6. The invisible force field that prevents Girth's clothes from landing inside the laundry basket, as opposed to beside it.

7. When I am creating a vaginal masterpiece and take too much off, forcing me to get rid of it all and have a naked chicken. I wish I could magically poof a start-over bush back on.

8. A camo shirt, cute boots and a pbr does not make you a cowgirl. That 5 lbs of makeup on your face even says so. And just because you own a red sundress, does not mean Kip Moore was singing about you.

9. Having a business licence means you have a business. Until then, you are simply taking money from local business owners pockets. Specifically falling into that category; photographers & tattoo artists.

10. Lastly, the woman and her children who were at the park the other day while Riot and I were there...As he tried running up the slide, I told him to not do that, to use the park correctly or we would leave. The other woman let her children run right up it. Now, not only does my toddler not understand why he can't but they are, but her kids could have jacked mine up while he was trying to use it correctly. This made me insane, and I wanted to throw playground dirt right in her face and kick her off the swing that she sat her lazy ass on. Maybe if she had spent less time texting, and more time enjoying the park...wow...nevermind. I must look insane to all those others mothers, since I am actually getting physical, running, playing, sliding with mine.

I may have hit a nerve or two, here and there.

I think it's common knowledge though...that the truth hurts.

 

Quote, quote!

So. I have a helpful lass in my blogging adventures, who proposes topics for me, from time to time. To thank her, I would like to do something that I need everyones help with.
This lady is in the insurance bizz-nass. Quotes make her day, and it would make mine if you made hers.
Because I love her so much, I will give the 20th person to get a quote from her, a $20.00 dollhair Walmart gift card. It will take you 5 minutes to make her day, and possibly some cashmoney too!
This starts now 11/13/2012 and goes until Friday 16th, 2012.
 

She's an Eastern Shore associate, and she will quote the pants right off you!!
Her direct line:
                                                         593-8343- Erin.

 

VIP

Women are scandalous. Plain and simple. They are all lesbionic when it comes to boobs. Everyone loves a good boob. We went out the other night, and I had that proven to me, time and time again. Female friends as well as strangers. It was like my tits had invitations plastered to them. One lady, a complete stranger wearing a a dick necklace that flashed like a disco ball ran up to me, and titty banged me with it. Then hugged me before resuming her sweet dance moves. She seriously hugged me after...may had well thrown a twenty on the bed side table. I had conversations with people, only to look down and see the hand of someone else just laying on my boob. They were slapped, grabbed, jiggled, motorboated, and manhandled every which way. And all by the ladies. What is it about women and boobs, that it is just normal, it is just peachy to reach out and get a handful of anothers woman's jugs? Now, don't get me wrong, I am not saying that care, or mind at all. I like my friends, I like my boobs, whatever. Even the strange dick necklace lady. Whatever. I just think that girls feel entitled to other girls boobs. Just like baby belly's. But, you start pawing at the wrong gals baby belly, and you just might feel a wrath like no other. It seems like protruding parts of the female anatomy are just up for grabs. Good thing we don't have wieners. Je-sus. Mine would probably be huge and I would probably have to beat bitches off with it.
Whatever the titty issue is though, it isn't anything new. I think it was just in overdrive this weekend. Maybe I looked super duper pretty, because I also got kissed. Twice. Obviously if I ever want to switch teams, I'll be a VIP.

Nice girl.

 

Nipples & bacon.

One thing I have always wanted to do, spend the weekend at a nudist colony. I love to be naked. All the time. Almost burnt my nipples off slaying bacon once. I moved into my first apartment at 22, and it was all down hill after that. As soon as I walked in after work, clothes were off, immediately. Dishes, vacuuming, cleaning in general, in the buff. People call before coming over to make sure I am clothed. So, a nudist resort would be pretty bad ass. The one hang up I have is seeing the backs of balls. Not even sure why. What if I am doing something fancy, like playing tennis with a guy, and he bends over to retrieve a ball...I don't even care about seeing his b-hole, but I will die if I see the back of his sack. Bike riding too. It's funny enough picturing a guy riding his bike, wiener all sitting on the seat, well, unless he's an unlucky one who has a turtle dick, but he hits a bump and it's all flip-flopping around. Oh my lanta, OR if someone were to trip and fall. That might be too much. Maybe I am not mature enough to handle so many swinging dicks and bouncing bewbs. I just WANT to. Swimming naked is the best thing, ever, but I still want to cookout, hangout, sit around a campfire all nekked and just relax. All this relaxation though, means alot of farting. That, I may not be able to handle in such large numbers. An entire community of naked assholes farting might be too much. Girth can't handle people farting when he eats cereal. Sometimes a ripper has peeped out of me and the look of disgust on his face makes me wish I had never been born. He can't even finish eating it, and doesn't help that I am usually sprawled out naked at night when this happens. He also does not like to be naked. I would have to take the naked trip all alone. Poor little miss lonely tits-a-swinging all the way to the naked place.

 

I will have done this before I die.

 

Number One.

Last night I thought about the first time I had sex. I've heard horror stories from a lot of people about their first time, that they hated it, but mine was actually just dandy. Now, I don't remember the actual date, but it was the night before my first day of ninth grade. I know, I know...a mere 14 years old. BUT, he had been my boyfriend the since 8th grade- where I snagged him at a school dance. Made him dance with me, asked him to be my boyfriend after a couple songs...quite the saucy 13 year old I had been. Anyhow, entering high school was obviously a huge deal...and the fact that I lost the ol' V-card the night before, makes me think it was his way of staking claim. It was about 10 minutes of hair petting and him asking if I was ok, and tons of handholding. All of this makes him sound like some weird 42 year old man, but he was the same age as me. Even now, holding hands is one of my favorite things to do, strange now that I think about it. Anyways, the lair of love was the bottom half of a set of bunk beds, complete with typical boy-ish sheets. I used to know the characters, but perhaps I blocked it from memory...being that I got blood on them. Then I walked home, bow-legged, because that's what I thought I was suppose to do. First sign of being too young to fornicate right there. And too much HBO. So there it was, hymen smashed out like the kool-aid man through a wall, a complete life altering moment, and I never got off my back. Number One stayed mine all the way till grade 10, and is still the only boy who ever broke my heart and my hymen.
I think I'm thankful for a decent first time, one that neither turned me off from sex, or made me to be such a fiend that I nailed everyone in site. At 32, the number of wieners in my repertoire remains in the single digits, a healthy number 9 to be exact. That's not to say though, that each one was a shining moment...jesus.

BOOM!

Handsy pants.

I came across this forum online, a real mans man kind of chat party happening. Well, this one guy, of supreme intelligence, obviously, claims that the smallness of a woman's hands, indicates  a tightness in the vagina. Oh, and a shorter vagina too. Not all the duders were on board with this theory, though, thankfully. However, this was also thrown into the mix,
"Having a kid will ruin any tight pussy", (PEnoob, 2011).

Woah, woah, back it up, you walking science experiment gone wrong. I, for one- beg to differ. The only logical reason birthing a child would ruin a muff, is if that baby drove out of there in a bus. Pretty unlikely, so that ol'clam should snap back into shape. With kegals of course. THEN, in another turn of events, it was determined that hand size and baby squeezing out actually are NOT the causes of a tight/untight vagina, but it's actually about athletics. Apparently, track runners and soccer players have the tightest snootches. Except for some athletes though, since RockstarParkingdude had this to say,
"...forget about softballs girls, they're all lesbians"

Yeah. So there's that. So, don't get excited softball players, your obviously running floppy muffs around the bases. I, on the other hand, have done soccer and track...so maybe they're onto something...hmmm...I'm telling you, seriously though, this forum was brimming with intelligence and insight. One man needs only to size a gal up for a few seconds before determining her vag's width AND depth.
I know lots of females who think like this too, shit, I have even done it myself. Thick neck, hands, wrists, whatever, the association is there. I have a friend or two that insists all nerds are biggest in the pants. I don't even know what to say about that. It's never been confirmed in my pants, there are zero nerds in my repertoire.

http://www.pegym.com/forums/womans-perspective/23800-how-spot-women-smaller-vajas.html

Fat cookie.

It's official. I am so close to the weight I was before getting impregnated. Only about three hungry days, 2 laxatives, and 1 water pill away. Then, BOOM, I am there. A 72 hour stomach bug would probably have the same effects, but I wouldn't get so lucky. Three years of pregnancy weight has run its course. Yesterday, I put on a pair of jeans, and you know that feeling you get when they fit just right? Well, fuck that feeling, these bitches were straight up TOO BIG! Obviously I wore them anyways, because they had the power to make me feel so skinny. Which obviously means more naked night time strutting through the house, telling my husband how amazing I am, dancing around, pushing my nakedness all over him. He is too busy swatting me away to appreciate it though. It might have something to do with dragging my vag across his arm while he is typing. Which by the way, also seems to have lost a pound or two. No more Ken doll dick-like bulge in my yoga pants.
This also leads me to idiot friends who use the term, "fat clothes". The girl who loses some weight and starts shopping, so she starts giving away her old clothes. This is what that silly fuck sounds like, 
"HEY, I"M GETTING RID OF ALL MY FAT CLOTHES... DO YOU WANT TO GO THROUGH THEM??" 
Ummm...excuse me? I had this happen once, years ago. I was a 5/6 at the time. No fucking thanks you idiot. Not only was I not fat, I never had been, and you suddenly getting thinner did not make me fatter in the first place. Excuse me while I choose not to dive into all your old, "fat jeans", and instead would like to strangle you with them, you insensitive, inconsiderate slob. Too bad their dick intake increased while their calorie intake decreased.
No worries here though, I'm keeping all of my "fat clothes". My weight goes up & down wayyyy too much. There's everything from a 4 to a 10 in my closet, and that's the way it's going to stay. Fat muffs need nice jeans too.

This image is not even relevant to my blog. But I did find it while searching for one, and just couldn't help myself. You can own one of these fellas, for just under $150.00. Why, though, I have no idea.

http://www.batkatcreations.com/MaleDolls.html

 

12 Inches.

As I was sitting outside the other day, there was a tape measure beside me. So, I'm screwing around with it and stretch it out to twelve inches. And, woah, woah, hold the phone. Immediately I think about wieners. A twelve inch salami. Is that really necessary?? It would be a monster, completely intimidating...no way. Maybe it was just the tape measure, but that thing would seem impossible to hold back in a pair of jeans. Like they would need an industrial strength zipper or something. I don't know if it is just the tape measure that makes it look so much more intense, but surely, a guy with foot long wang could tickle his own nipple with his boner. I held the tape measure down my leg, then at my muffin, bent it to see where the springy boner would hit me. It seemed unnatural. Not me having a dick being unnatural, but the size of it. This also left me completely perplexed as to why girls run to a million inch wiener. How is that even the important part? It's most definetly the circumference on that sucker. A guy could have 10, 11, 12 inches in his pants, but if it has got the width of uncooked pasta, no dice. No one wants that, I wouldn't think so anyways. It's like your inviting damage to your rib cage. Like you're just asking someone to knock your ovaries around like pool balls. If I ever had a 12 incher sprung on me, I'd probably use the balls as a springboard and pole vault right on out of the room on that son of a bitch.

This the only type of 12 inches that is getting near my lips.

 

Sleepytime slut.

Woke up last night pulling my husbands jammy pants off him. I was in full on attack mode all over his wiener. It had been a normal night, no drinking, no porn, even went to bed right after Sons of Anarchy, asleep by 10 o'clock. It appears the sleepy slut has returned. It used to be a real problem, neither of us ever got any sleep. He would roll right away from me at bedtime and sleep tight on his belly because of it. Woke up countless times with my hand right down his pants, getting all old school with the hj's. He would fight me off, and go back to sleep. I have woken up right on top of him trying to get my swerve on, or just plain ol' humping the skin right off his leg. He of course, shoves me off with disgust. Last night though, was the first night in a while. I wasn't even having any sexy dreams, I was actually having a scary one! And he wasn't even saving me, so I wasn't offering my vagina up in a gratuitous nature. While last nights sleepy time sexcapade did start out only in his favor, I did wind up getting lucky, so that's a plus. We were both wide awake by that time, so that's even better. Until we looked at the clock. Being asleep by ten, we assumed it was like 5am...nope. It was only midnight. A Googling I will go, and find out that sexsomnia is the real deal, present in 4% of women. Could be worse I guess, like a sleep eater or something. Then again, I was only a wiener type away from that difference last night.

Clearly, I would not be a good candidate for a sleepover...

Flipping awesome.

Had a sitter this Saturday, went out. Pretty sure that I make it way too obvious that sitters are not a regular occurrence around here...because I completely rage it up. Now, if your one of those moms who drank on weekends, went out with friends, did crazy things, until a baby fell from your vagina-well, you can just stop. I see ridiculous rants all the times coming from the mouths of these bitter lasses. Thinking that becoming a mother is an intro to sainthood, when the reality check is- you were obviously just inducted into judgemental twat-of-fame.
This weekend I had some great times. Played flip cup like an adolescent, abused a clay dick, had enough fun that I don't remember limping in the front door at 1 o'clock in the morning. Being a parent does not mean that letting go for a night makes you any less of anything. I will do all the things I did before, just in moderation. There is no need to lose a part of myself when another is gained. Immature? Sure. Aside from being a smidgen immature though, I am also a wonderful wife, doting mommy, great full-time student a year away from her bachelors degree, friend, sister, daughter, 2 job working girl. One thing I'm not though, judgemental.  However, if some of those social pariahs, with nothing better to do, feel like passing judgement on the fun other people are having, then judge this:
Upon coming home, it seems that I stripped naked and hopped on the couch to pass out. It also seems that I pissed myself like a gross drunk old man, taking out two entire couch cushions and three throw pillows. Like my muffin was set on sprinkler mode or something. I'm not even sure if this is a step up or down from the night I was puking in the toilet, abruptly sneezing, which smashed my mouth/face of the porcelin, effectivly throwing me backwards into the wall...almost knocking myself out. Bloody lip or piss-without-the-pants. Such a toss up.

   While some are breeding bitterness, I'll be making making memories.

Decadence of a Decade.

I honestly think that if I was twenty-something in the 80's, I would have been a groupie. I would have had the biggest hair, the biggest tits and the tightest spandex around. Now, this is not to say I would have been a groupie for the purpose of jumping on every salami I swooned to, but in all honesty, there are certainly some that I would not have passed up. For that reason, I wouldn't have used those scary old Lee press-on nails...I can't even imagine how many zippers claimed those bitches in the 80's.
Groupies now a days just don't seem legit. For some reason, back then they seemed relevant, glamorous even.They had a mission and they got back stage and completed it. One thing I would have done though, is get autographs. Not just signatures on my teets, but the real deal. Could you imagine having a stockpile of autographs 20-30 years later? So awesome. And then I would more than likely have completely exploited each and every encounter with a filthy tell-all book. "Decadence of a Decade", would be full of Polaroids, meet & greets, and sexcapades. My conquests most certainly would have been, Rod Stewart, Sebastion Bach, Brett Michael's, Steve Perry, and that's all I know off the top of my head. Actually, the most terrible part of this whole ordeal would be missing out on Kid Rock. He would never make it to my to-do list, because by the time he spun onto the scene in 2000, I would have been hiding my sordid past, or in the beginning stages of my tell-all book. The boys with big hair and bigger bulges would have been behind me,and I would have retired my crimper and fuck me pumps. Me and all my illegitmate band babies would be ready to bank off mommys vagina and get fancy. We would forever be thankful to the maker of the backstage pass. And of course the biggest thanks would go to Aqua Net. The 80's could not have even existed without it.

Nothing could ever compare.

 

The day I died.

It just happened, out of the blue. I was completely blindsided, living in a world of darkness...scared and unprepared for what lied ahead of me. Panic stricken, pounding keys, calling for help, I was helpless & hopeless. These things don't happen to me...Sure, I might shit in my pants, pop change into a lottery machine and get confused while trying to play a song like it's a jukebox, hell, I have even broken a wiener in my day, but THIS? No. It was impossible. Or so I thought, because it certainly wasn't. I've even been careful with my online porn surfing...it still didn't save me.
My hard drive shit the bed.
No social networking. Well, very little, thanks to Xbox Live. This was surprisingly though, the least traumatic. No recipes. Could I take on my kitchen with my own bravado and expertise? Well, let's just say we didn't starve. Listening to music. No more Spotify. Time to crank up the radio...it was awful waiting for songs I like to hear to come on, a complete loss of control. YouTube? Guess I have to go without seeing videos of nip slips and silly people falling. All bills were paid over the phone, account inquiries were made over the phone...this was like being in the fucking dark ages. Of all of these things though, none were the worst. The absolute worst was not being able to check multiple weather sites. We don't do cable, just Netflix, so I don't have the weather channel. I seriously check the weather about 15 times a day. I had still never realized how addicted I was to it. The frigging weather. I could not handle the uncertainty of each day, not knowing what to expect. It was then that I realized how utterly dependent and demented the Internet has made me. AND, I was no longer smart! Not being able to "Google It", made me half a retard.

Going through all of this really put things in perspective. It really made me realize some things, gave me time to re-evaluate the situation. The conclusion I reached was...we need a second laptop. I'm sure some of you think there may have been some big epiphany about overusing the Internet...but come on now. Don't be silly. If I have to go two weeks without worldly access again, I will fucking kill someone.
 

Scary.

Last night I couldn't sleep and my mind wandered off to things that scare me...not exactly a big help.

I realized that one of them is quicksand. I can't stop thinking about it as a place for murderers to bring victims, and then use it as a body dump site. Anything could be in there...anything could get lost in there. It's terrifying. I feel like it just runs into the ground forever and ever, like, all the way to China. There's probably so many dead bodies popping up in China, while the American over here is snickering all the way back to their pervert van.

Guys in a bar that wink at me. It's like a dead give away that they have roofies in their pocket. I'll pass on shedding my few sexual inhibitions in front of you and your winking eye.

Excel spreadsheets, creepy baby dolls, spiders, public speaking, drowning, & drive-bys.

The movie Strangers. Absolute scariest movie ever made. Loud music in the dead of night, banging on doors and windows, creepy knocking girl in the middle of nowhere, stabbed in front of your lover. All at random. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck youuuuuuuuuu. Terrifies me.

Another is storage units. Anything, absolutely anything, could be going on in them. People could live in there, hookers, drug meets, serial killers. I'm terrified of being kidnapped and held in a storage unit. Some lunatic going to work everyday, coming back, tormenting me, planning to wear my skin as a suit. People can have whole other lives in a frigging storage unit. It's insane.

Everything regarding my offspring makes me sick. If I can't move fast enough to pull him from harms way, if he grows up to be a mean man, if I'm doing it right.

Dying in any way that lands me a spot on 1,000 Ways To Die, pooping so hard my butthole pops out, getting buried alive & Gene Simmons tongue.

When ever I hear people say, "Do one thing a day that scares you", it freaks me out. Obviously I do not want to be kidnapped, murdered, or have my butthole fall out.

Meat & Potaters.

Well, this Mondays blog was the idea of a huge boobed lass that I ran into the other night. Since I am not a name dropper of all the celebutants around me, we will just call her, E. Snatchel. Being the gem that she is, she wondered what I would do with a penis for one day. For starters, I would have smacked E. Snatchel in the eye with it, because the question SHOULD have been, what wouldn't I do with that son of a bitch...woohooo!!!

Holy balls, a wiener for a day...well, I hope it would be big, because I would have big plans for it! Since I am a female, endowed on the top, if I got a wiener, I will just assume that, that as well would be jumbo sized. So, upon opening my eyes on my first morning of swinging anatomy, I would cry at the sight of my morning boner. I'd probably pull it back and smack it off my belly button a couple times. And then I would immediately beat the bologna up. Feeling refreshed for the day ahead of me, and as much as I would probably just want to carry it around in my hand like a prize all day, I would pick out the perfect outfit to package my package in. My smile and ding-a-ling would be in straight up competition all day long, so big. Throughout the day I would show it to all my friends, and convince one of them to let me mushroom stamp them. I would also sneak in a  tea-bag...because sometimes it's just nice to not be on the receiving end of things. Sneaking off to paddle the pickle every chance I got would suffice until I found someone to hump. This might be a problem though. See, I'm going to want to do all the filthy things with that thing too, but finding a willing participant may not be so easy. It's probably ok though, I probably won't be able to keep my hands off it myself. It's going to feel so badass taking pisses too. I'm going to piss everywhere. I might piss right on someone, and I would pecker check at the urinals...you know guys do that shit all the time. I'm going to twist it and bend it, become best friends with it. I would write my name in the snow, hang a towel off my boner, and make my pee-hole talk. No, I didn't forget I would get a nutsack. Those guys would get shifted from leg to leg just for the hell of it, and I would roll them around like stress balls constantly. I'd probably pull the skin of my balls up over my wiener so it looked like a 3-pak. And at the end of the day, when our fun is through, before he goes, I will let someone kick me in the dick & balls. I know, I know. It's just, if I am going to get the experience, I gotta take the lows with the highs. Then he will be gone. I won't say bye though, I will say see you later.

See you later, meat and potaters.

XOXO

I believe in...

Kissing. Slow, hard, lip biting and with urgency.

Saying I love you, no matter the consequence.

Honesty is NOT always the best policy.

Secrets. Keep some of your own memory pool to swim in, alone.

The satisfactory purr of a kitty is heaven in your ear.

Good sex can set a bad week straight.

Passion in everything.

Making out.

The power of homemade soup.

Abortion.

Love at first sight.

Live music shouldn't be free...buy merch. Show support.

Legalization of marijuana. We have bigger worries then laid back, potato chip munching people.

Singing loudly in the car, and that your voice sounds the exact same as the artists. Or better.

Letting go, in every way.

Reincarnation.

Past lives.

Imperfections.

Nakedness.

Excess ruins people.

The best decades to live in did not include cell phones. Or the internet.

People were smarter before the internet.

People pleasers lack accountability.

The feeling of "home" can be found in an embrace.

I believe that you have to believe in something...

Bitchfest #4 ~ Feeding time.

In most jobs, feedback is the key to success. Giving it constructively, and receiving it humbly.
However, the job of being a mother is not one of them. Try telling a mother how she SHOULD be doing something, or how her child SHOULD be acting. You set yourself up to bring on a wrath like no other. Women know this, and still they attack the parenting choices of others. The biggest argument I see on a  regular basis is breastfeeding. Breastfeeding is of course, the healthiest option. BUT, it is also only as healthy as the mother manages it to be. Even still, breastfeeding your children does not come with the requirement of self-righteousness. Sure, you want to educate people on the choice they are making, it can be all the difference for some mothers, but others are content with how they are raising their offspring. So, not only do some mothers need to be educated on the feeding choice of their babies, but other mothers obviously need to be educated on boundary issues. And, I don't mean with passive aggressive bullshit either. "Oh, yeah. You're still a great mother if you don't breastfeed...I JUST LIKE TO DO WHAT'S BEST FOR MY BABY". Ummmm...yeah. We ALL like to do what is best, and we try to do what we think is best. What we don't need are judgemental mothers trotting around like egotistical harpies. Being a mother is hard enough. Sleepless nights, stressful days, teaching, educating, playing, feeding, training, it doesn't end. All of these things with constant worry and paranoia about each milestone and achievement from birth until the end of time for our kids. Instead of worrying about mothers who feed their babies formula, rather than straight out the nip, worry about the babies who get nothing to eat, or little to no nourishment at all. Focus some of your attention on a cause like that. Whatever you do though, keep in mind that just because you are a mother who rings the dinner bell under her blouse, doesn't mean you have to slip into your judgey pants while doing it.

How about personal? respect? support?

Poo-poo-cachoo.

Almost didn't make my morning poop this morning. I mean, I had to go and all, was actually straight up prairie dogging it, but then something weird happened. Since my kid hovers to take a crap by squatting like a frog, I often have to clean footprints off the toilet. Well, in my dash to shit, I had to wipe it off, but bending over to do so, my poop actually climbed back into my body. I don't even know what happened. It's like it just said "fuck this!", and slithered back up into no mans land. Creepy shit. It was better than the alternative, I guess. Sometimes my morning poo's can be very taxing. My belly will crumble into some hellacious contraction and I will sweat for 15 minutes before some piece of rabbit shit drops out of my butt hole. Talk about hard work with no reward. How is it possible that our bodies allow us to go through so much agony, only to leave a trail of 4-5 little fudge nuggets? Especially after sweating so bad, and becoming so weak from the process. You really feel so vulnerable laying on the cold tile of your bathroom floor with your pants around your ankles. It's like I am being victimized by own treacherous asshole. So unfair. Pretty sure Riot can sense this vulnerability also, because he capitalizes on this time by doing absolutely ridiculous things. He will walk right to the bathroom, but keep just out of my reach, with a pen in his hand. I will hear him drag a stool to climb onto the counter and open snacks. It's like him and my b-hole are teaming against me in some strange conspiracy. Maybe if I laid off the coffee, my body would be more forgiving. As much as it drives me crazy, I can't. Just can't. Besides, the only time it really pisses me off is when I have just gotten out of the shower. There is nothing worse than dropping a keester kake out of a clean & shiny bonus hole. It completely negates all the work you have just done in the shower. Plus it feels gross, especially if you are jumping out and still wet. Ugh. Like having to poop while you are swimming. Deeeeee-scusting. Nothing worse than a dirty squirrel hole.

Really? Really??! How does one miss by this much?