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.