"...stop being a little whore..."

I'm just going to jump right into this one. A man and a vibrator are nothing alike. Just because you may use one more than the other, does not mean the other won't work anymore. If I just want to just get off, about 60 seconds later, I have. Obviously I have stellar technique and I aim to please- myself. If I wanted actual sex, just bribing Girth to put out would take at least 5 minutes. Followed by 5 minutes of foreplay, then the 5-10 minutes of smashing anatomy, then about 5 minutes of clean-up'. 
It still does not of course, beat real sex. The sweat, the smell, the taste...you just aren't going to get all that passion by yourself. The closest analogy would be like starving and and choosing fast food or 4-Star. Both will do the job, but they definitely aren't alike in experience.

With that being said, my greatest sacrifice during pregnancy was being made to give up my toys. Girth made me get rid of everything before I evicted Riot from my uterus. His words exactly,

"You need to throw that shit away. It's time to be a mother and stop being a little whore".

 

It was awful. Goody box, gone. Missed most of all, was the Bullet. I probably could have gotten away with smuggling and keeping it, being only the size of my pinky. But let me tell you- throw a couple watch batteries in it and it will shimmy across a counter top in half a second. Miraculous little fucker. My friend actually gave it to me as a gift a few years before. She gave it to me right at work, and it was on a key chain- I had no idea what it was. Turned it on in the office...yeahhhhh...our boss was not impressed. I was though, for sure. It was the beginning of a beautiful thing, which Girth tore from the depths of my soul during pregnancy. Someday I'll pay him back. Like when Riot is grown up and moved out. I'll get a frigging wall-banger and attach it to his side of the beds headboard. A huge black one. And forever and ever he shall wake up every morning bouncing his forehead off a big black dick.

I win.

I find it absolutely insane if an adult woman has never masturbated. That must be like not knowing how to find your own way home.

 

Sometimes I complain.

Why is everyone who gets their picture taken by a good photographer suddenly beginning a "modeling" page? Easy, Elle Macpherson. And also, if you un-Instagram yourself, it's like Superman revealing he is just Clark Kent. A big fucking disappointment.

No one is going to share a million dollars with you. Cancer will not be cured. Sick children will not be fed. You're mother/father/sister/brother will not die.
Free couches will not come in the mail.
Stop riddling FaceBook with this insanity. No one is secretly counting your FB likes and feeling that we are on our way to a better quality of life. No one is over your shoulder ready to kill anyone if you scroll past.

A $20.00 dollar tattoo is a $20.00 dollar tattoo. If you are in a kitchen, 9 times out of 10, it looks like it was done in a kitchen. If you say you got 'tatted', then this is more than likely exactly what you did. If you want professional pictures taken, and I started snapping away with a disposable camera and charge you money, then that wouldn't be very professional, now would it? You would not have professional pictures, you would have retardation. If you are buying groceries, do you want to save some money and get old, stale, bad food? No, you probably do not. You want the good stuff. So, then why go to your neighbor, who just got his first artistry kit, via the interweb machine, and let him etch a permanent practice session into your skin? Of course you can pay out of your ass to have an actual professional fix it, but maybe they will pass. Maybe they are a little weary on being at risk for Hep B, unlike YOU were when you sat in that kitchen chair, table full of food, kids running around, people smoking/drinking, with your un-gloved artist.

Why can't FaceBook just be full of baby animals and porn *sigh*

Just in case you need help identifying professional from non-professional work:
http://www.deathtoscratchers.com/Index.html


Keep in mind, shit work is alot different than apprentice work.


If you are offended by this, then you probably did it. Don't fret, this guy can more than likely fix your mistake. And I do say YOUR mistake, instead of the "artist" you initially went to- since YOU chose them in the first place.

https://www.facebook.com/messages/635479014#!/TattooMacabre

https://www.facebook.com/messages/635479014#!/tymelesstattoo.piercing?fref=ts


Now, kids- Mr. Macabre won't work out of a kitchen, but you won't be disappointed.

So that means you can have something like this...

 

 

 

 

...instead of this.

 

Asstastic Week: first odd prime number

So, this is week three. I have to say, I thought my ass would be way more awesome by now. Maybe that's the issue. Unrealistic expectations that lead to disappointment, that lead to giving up. So, I will continue with these hellish squats. They actually aren't so bad, and each week I have been able to pop up & down more and more at a time. Starting out, doing just 20 at once made me want to punch babies, but now I can spring out 40 like it's my fucking job. I also like to think that this directly correlates to better sex. It's got to affect the pounce-pounce of it all. We'll see...


Well, here it is. Week 3;

 

 

I also decided to take a second pic, because I do think my ass is looking bigger. Especially up top? I don't even know what is happening...I look wider! Which also makes my waist look smaller...I am getting surprised left and right. Holy balls.

Don't judge my fat thighs...I will work on those another time. They do look weird, making my shape boxy like spongebob or something. Gross.

 

 
Also, those that feel the need to judge me because I am blogging my ass on here, suck it. Doesn't seem to stop you from sneakily clicking the blog link I post and checking me out though, does it.

Hypocritical twats.

One more thing, look into this blog:

http://bringthesprinks.wordpress.com/2013/04/15/a-special-thanks/


That is my friend, Chrissy- who is doing amazing things with her body. She also posts pictures of her body over the 12 weeks she just endured, and let's you know what she has gained from it, and how she achieved it. Her ass is slammin'.

Asstastic, week deuce.

Oh my balls. The first week of squats was intense. Shaky legs, thighs felt like charlie horses...I completely wanted to bury and eat my feelings of physical pain. The second week, doesn't feel like that at all. Only my outer thighs hurt, and it isn't even that bad. I think that means I am making muscles, woot! These past few days got a little jacked up with moving and all, but I have made up all of the squats that had gone neglected. I have only today's, and yesterday's to handle. Rolled out of bed at 5 this morning and did 25 real quick, like a fucking boss. 180 more to go before midnight. Taking my ass selfie this morning, I am not sure that I see a difference, but it feels different hanging off my body. Here is this weeks...a fucking disgusting amount of squats later...
And please pardon the massive whorish wedgie that is happening. Hungry, hungry hamburger.

 

 

And here is a side by side of week 1 and week 2...

 

 

 

And an unexpected surprise from the squatty challenge...

 

Again, pardon my slitty looking bellybutton, since I was pulling up my ridiculous boobs.

 

 

 

 

This is getting exciting. Results are exciting!

Asstastic.

Let's face it, Winter time is a luxurious fat ass of a time span. I am not out walking the bridges, or really doing much of anything. However, my mid thirties clearly does not agree with that lifestyle choice...and it is obvious by the way my ass is trying to jiggle itself away from the rest of my body. Tonight I happened upon a picture of a 30 day squatting challenge. Well, challenge fucking accepted. "Mom Ass" terrifies me, and I do not want to lose the gracious "gap" that I was blessed with. However, walking this Summer will save that- since it is more about my thighs getting fat and crowding out that coveted little space. It also seems that I have been building up some "saddle bags". Awesome. This was the first time I have ever taken a selfie of my own ass, and it was fucking terrifying. Now, after the squatty challenge, I am not hoping to see a miracle, just a little more pop. It seems strange to me having my thighs wider than my ass. And also having them struggling to kiss each other beneath my ass cheeks is ridiculous. I feel like I want to go Nip/Tuck all over it with a black sharpie. Je-sus. I want a more defined under ass crease and more lift. So, here it is...

 

I am not a fan of the way my ass has become one with the rest of legs...not a fan at all.

 

 

 

Trendy...

The mall. I used to be obsessed, spending 3/4 of my paychecks there, bouncing checks sometimes, it was never ending. Complete clotheshorse. Then, everything changed. At first I thought it was because I became a mom and have remained about 10 pounds heavier than I once was, but I just realized that isn't it at all. We were at the mall the other day...and went to Target...and went to TJ Maxx. And you know what? Everything is fucking hideous. Now, I have never been a "trendy" gal at all, always just got what I liked. But now?? Holy balls...nothing. All floral, gauzy material, bright denim, half shirts in the front, long in the back, and all the dresses had triangle tits...meaning they were out of the question for a chesty lass such as myself. I just wanted some jeans where the waistline comes up higher than my lowest pubic hair and some slutty deep V neck tees. I did pick up some flip-flops to complete the ensemble, but that's it. And now, as I am sitting here listening to Mr. Big on Spotify, I realize I am one of "those" moms. One of the ones I considered stuck in the 80's when I was growing up. I am officially stuck in the 90's. With like, a toe dipped in the 80's. That's actually good, I think. There is nothing worse than seeing a super trendy mom, sporting the latest fashions, looking ridiculous because she can't loosen the stranglehold she keeps on her youth. I even felt more mom-ish last night talking about The Frisky beaver article. I'm not waxing the kitty bare, and it being a bit more than a strip makes me feel even more mom-ish. That's fine though. Besides, the only ladies that should even consider going bald are the ones with 'innies. Never 'outies'. Plus, it isn't like an actual mom bush in my pants anyways, it doesn't trail down to my asshole and thighs or anything. Let's just clear that up now. So, I guess it's like the hair is just a decoration, because it is only up top. That's mostly because it grosses me out to think about going pee and having hair there. Gross. Well, that and it's more fun to play 'Just the Tip' when it's bare.
Anyhow, the point is- I'm just going to keep on smashing my muffin with a haircut into higher waisted jeans and tees. Fuck the trends, the floral and the lime green jeans.

Just a small town girl, living her 90's world...
See what I did there?

 

Looming.

Riot called me 'mom' yesterday. My heart broke in 7 million pieces. It also made me feel 10 years older. Right now, I am living in a bubble. School, sweatpants, staying home with my babe. Come Fall, I will be a job searching machine. Skirts, cardi's and fuck me pumps await me. I will have to brush my hair, probably even have to put hairspray in it. Meetings, office equipment and adults will surround me. It's easy not to feel grownup right now. Me and my baby, farting, dancing, laughing the days away. Then he has to go and call me 'mom', and snap me into the reality that awaits us. Due to my vanity and dramatics, I told him never to call me that again, it wasn't nice, and my name was 'mommy'. A harsh over-reaction? Sure. But him and I don't have these times together forever. Someday when we are worker and student, adult and rebellious teen, he might even refer to me by my actual name. It is then that I realize, no one else in this world has the capacity to break my heart like this kid does. I have always known that I love him like no other, but the vulnerability that comes with heartbreak is just as overwhelming. The closer graduation gets for me, the more neurotic I become. I need to side part his hair, pick his clothes, and pick his friends. It's me that needs to walk him onto his school bus, and whisk him off it at the end of his day. At some point though, it becomes clear. Being mommy and being an adult are one in the same. I need to stop separating them. The realization is, I can be both and we will survive. I'll be a fancy mommy, and he will be a well adjusted little boy and we will enjoy our farty pants dancing at the end of everyday.  He will still say, "mommy, you mell' that?" and after I sniff he will say, "I fahhhtedddd...", then laugh like a lunatic. He will grab ahold of me and say, "Mommy, I need to kiss your face". He will ask me to "pet his back" before bed, and  to play his puppy. And he's just always going to be my best friend.