Anatomy...continued...

Boobs. The flouncy part of the female anatomy. Big, small, firm, fat, real, fake, pretty, ugly, and,  yes-there are some ugly pairs out there. Some gals don't even have a matching set. Little nips, big nips, and straight up salami nips adorn them.Although, if your tits look like they could crush the soul of someone getting in between them, they are too big. Yes, there is such a thing.

                             

Also, aside from the physicality's of them, what separates the female anatomy from the males, is that everyone loves boobs. Facts are facts. Girls will check out each others boobs, grab at each others, ask to see them...it's all curiosity and wonderment. It's perfectly fine for a girl with small boobs to state that she hates hers and wants bigger ones, and then reach out and grab the boobs of the big chested girl shes yapping away to. Trust me, I know this. Can you imagine this between guys though?
"Wow, I hateeee my super small wiener. I want a huge package like yours!" As he's reaching out to grab a hold of it...no. That's probably not going to happen, ever.
Girls will compliment the looks of boobs in various dresses, sweaters, shirts, etc. You are not going to hear a couple of guys talking about how wonderful his friends package looks in his new jeans. Guys aren't generally pecker checkers, and if they are, they are phenomenal at it,because they surely can't scope out a chesty gal without getting caught.

My own personal goal is to downsize in that department. A sturdy 'C' cup would be perfect. If I or any other girl with huge boobs puts on a tank top, she looks borderline trashy, and other girls will immediately pull on their judgey pants and the dirty looks will flow.Not that I especially care what is thought of me, but it would just be more comfortable. When my boobs finally go, feel free to pick something else to be jealous about...spiteful bitches ;D

In case you didn't know what jealousy looked like.

Anatomy.

Making meatballs for dinner last night, I thought of balls, and how their ugly uselessness just sort of hangs off the male body. They really are stupid looking. Then I thought of (what my husband would call) the weapon. As far as anatomy goes, lady parts aren't the cutest things going. However- a muffin does not just dangle off a female, all weird and floppy like its male counterpart does. Plus, if a lady gets excited, her vagina does not threaten to rip through her jeans.
So, onto the looks. When do you ever REALLY hear someone say, "Wow. That is a really handsome penis!" You don't, except in porn. Why, you ask? Because they aren't especially good looking. Looking at filthy magazines, watching porn, all those pork swords are so different! (I only know this from hearsay, of course.) If there was a huge veiny wiener flying at my face, I don't even care what it's attached to-I am it beating with a stick. THEN, there's those ones that look like long pokers...like you're going to be stabbed to death with spaghetti right out of the box.I would snap that sucker with a judo chop. Oh, and lets not forget about the fear of the "zero doodle". There is just nothing there. I imagine that having a "zero doodle" come at you would make you want to poke it and ring it like a doorbell...except nothing would happen.
At best, the penis is tolerable to look at. Not a thing of beauty like the rising sun is. Both look cool when they are rising, but let's face it, only one is beautiful.
For the most part, they all look similar to this guy.  

Someone give this guy a brush...

Like, really.

I know, right?, butt load, butt hurt, epic, fail, epic fail, whatev, omg, booyah, literally, clearly, tats...


When talking to someone, how is it possible to remain sane when they keep saying, "I know, right?"...To me, it doesn't even make any frigging sense. I don't know, you tell me, are you right? Don't repeatedly ask me if you are in fact, correct in what you are saying. 
Butt load, this is not a unit of measurement. It sounds god damn sick. "Ohhh, look at what we have here, a butt load of assholes who use "butt load" as a gross form of reference." 
Butt hurt, seriously? Who even came up with this, and it may be even more gross than butt load. All I can think about is comparing hurt feelings to painful butt sex. Trust me, there is no comparison. And you take that any way you want to...
Epic. The fact that this word is used to describe everything from  music to tits completely ruins it's definition. 
Fail. OK, I get it. Does it have to be said and plastered everywhere though? Somebody caught tripping in a pic, they obviously failed to walk correctly-it's obvious. No need to stamp a bit fat red FAIL tag onto it. 
Epic Fail, who judges who fails at what most epically. Stop it.
Whatev. Holy shit. This drives me insane. It is at its absolute worst when used in actual conversation. I have two people I am close to and love in my life, who are probably reading this, and they both use it. Aggressively. I would like to tie their hairs together until they "whatev" each other to oblivion.
OMG. I get using it online, occasionally. In real talk though? You need to be punched right in the asshole.
Booyah. This word makes my whole body tense. I HATE it. What does it even mean? When is it necessary? Who cares and never are the answers to those questions.
Literally & Clearly...I don't even understand why these are "cool" and trendy to use in every other sentence. All of a sudden they are popular and everyone uses them way too often. 
Tats. Please just top using this word. It sounds like you get it done in a jail cell with Indian ink, thread and a sewing needle. 

        This is how I imagine myself when those words are used. 

So stop, for your own safety.

The History of Girth Brooks...

 "Love is not the dying moan of a distant violin - it's the triumphant twang of a bed-spring...."

 We met in the Fall of 2006, we were official in the Spring 2008, I became unemployed in January of 2009, he proposed to me on February 13th of 2009, we found out I was pregnant on February 23rd, 2009. We got married on April 25th, 2009, and had our gorgeous son on September 28th, 2009. We are a whirlwind, a force to be reckoned with. We happened fast. The laws of fate knew we were made for each other and pushed upon us everything it knew we could handle- before we ever had a chance to over-analyze and over think ourselves. Even the universe was in our corner.

He thinks I am, "ugly as dick", in the morning, and the grossest girl he has ever known. I think he is a moody bitch. I assault him with close-up pictures of my butthole when he least expects it, he throws cup o' farts at me while I am working hard on my homework.

I broke his wiener during a rough sex-capade one night, it turned black & blue and his ballsack grew to the size of a softball right in front of me.It was late, but we made some calls. His mother, my step-mom, and his boss were all quickly notified of his poor frank & beans. We received more laughter than advice...obviously. Being the excellent girlfriend I was at the time though, I placed a frozen porkchop on his balls, and we went to sleep. I woke up that morning to him hitting me with a no longer frozen porkchop, while he pointed to his wiener screaming that it was frostbit. He gave it a hard pinch, and it definitely wasn't. He screamed like a woman.After two Dr.'s appointments,one sonogram, 3 weeks living in sweatpants, and no sex(I almost died), he was back in business. His broken black junk was horrific, but he thanked me for the opportunity to have a sonogram on his nuts. See? Give & take...we got it.

We wrote our own vows, and I swore to never break his junk again, and always have ice on hand...I also vowed to never poop on the front seat of the car again, but that's a whole other issue...

Bieber...no.

It should probably be mentioned that I have never heard a Justin Bieber song in my life. It's pretty much like an angel has been watching over my ears this entire time.
However.
Watching The Voice the other night, I watched Bieber bounce out onto stage. Ummm...where is his hair? Have I been living under a rock? And THEN, he is going to show a sneak peak of his new video...If I was Your Boyfriend, or something. Bieber was being sexy!!! He was whispery and shit to the girl in his video...whaaaattttt! After a little research I find that some trollop accuses Bieber of knocking her up...ummm...no. Not the Bieber I had imagined. A shaggy haired, big toofed, wiener-less boy could not have procreated. After his sexy sneak peak though...I see I was duped. Bieber is a freak. I also realize how insane I would go having a girl, who would grow into a screaming banshee groupie-esq female with dream-boat posters of Bieber-creeper type boys all over her walls. What happened to the super hot guys like Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch? Helloooo?? Even my New Kids Jordan doll was hot shit...little hairs braided into a tail...because hey, tails were hot shit too. I will take some dirty sexy Kurt Cobain too. Now he was a filthy hot guy with talent. Now it's all about super skinny jeans, nutsacks protruding through, over styled hair, and tiny tiny T's that I cant fit my tits in...disappointing when you love to wear your boyfriends clothes. The ruggedness and dirty sexy is gone, feminine looking boys are in. Sad. Even still, nobody likes a mooseknuckel.

                                                                       Or do they?

She Works Hard for Her Money...

The days of nakedness and sweatpants will be ending in the not so distant future. Next year around this time I will be a college graduate, and clothing & clean hair will be required upon entering the pool of job seekers. It has been since Jan. of 2009 that I was laid off, and finding out I was pregnant a month later, well,  I was consumed by the role of domesticity. A completely unchartered aspect of myself, a place I never thought I would go, but once I got there...well...I set up shop...quick. The thought of leaving my beautiful child sickens me the point where I feel emotionally crippled, but I am thankful he is not a stage 5 clinger like myself. I would be a straight up liar though, if I said wasn't excited. to hop into an office, bring home the bacon, and boss people around. On top of that....I get to work clothes shop! OhMyLanta. Button-downs, fancy pumps, and skirts-here I come! And again, the thought of missing my offspring squashes that happiness, until I remember that I will be missed. He will miss ME. That means he will call me name, get excited and jump all over me when he sees me! Selfishly, I am pleased. Girth gets that response everyday walking in  the door...makes me a smidgen envious. To me, there is no better definition of bittersweet.
I guess until then I will fantasize about being a hot ass, high powered boss, but I will also be convincing my husband that it really is OK if I wear skirts to work- that I will practice not acting like 24/7 slushie shop while wearing them. I'm not terribly lady-like, and my sitting technique will need some adjusting. Until then though, I am scumming it. That and soaking up every single solitary second of time with my child. He is after all, my smallest best friend.

"To a mother, a son is never a fully grown man; and a son is never a fully grown man until he understands and accepts this about his mother."

Mineminemine...

She acts all mean to me...yet she has crawled right up and under my blanket to cuddle me. She may have been startled and disgusted that I had no pants on...but it was the thought that counted.
She gave me a brazilian. I was stabbed with the wooden poking stick while she applied the wax & verbally abused me. Then she laughed like an asshole while ripping the wax off.
She has given me a haircut. Actually, haircut isn't the word...haggard bowl cut is a better fit. Trimming a straight line is not within her capacity.
She is super irritating to fight with because she just hangs up the phone on me.
She lived with me and dealt with me while I wore my new bikini around the house, tags still on, while announcing how pretty I was over & over.While I proceeded to lay around on the couch eating chips and watching movie in it...she never judged.
She signed me up at karaoke to sing,"I Will Always Love You", I didn't do it, but I know it's because she wanted me to show-off my glorious pipes.
She can make a Zoolander face. It's a novelty that is only for me, because she loves me.
She is my sister.
And I love her.

"Sisters don't need words. They have perfected a language of snarls and smiles and frowns and winks - expressions of shocked surprise and incredulity and disbelief. Sniffs and snorts and gasps and sighs - that can undermine any tale you're telling."

Feeding You Food...

I feel that I must tell you...I have not always been the domestic goddess that you read before you today. Nope, I know, I know...it's hard to believe. As the queen of crock-potting and all around domesticity, I should tell you-it has not been an easy road. Many burnt pans, shrunken clothes and tears have littered the way. Once upon a time it was only being served if it came pre-prepared from a bag, box, or can. Grilled cheese were made from toast, a slice of cheese and the microwave, and bacon was cooked naked. Lessons all learned. I make a bangin' grilled cheese & keep myself clothed while frying bacon- nothing like some hot grease on the nips to snap you out of a bad habit! I will how ever, bust out some Hamburger Helper...no one is above consuming it's fatty goodness. I have also become accustomed to the trickery of blaming his shrunken shirts on weight gain, due to all the excellent meals served to him (whatever takes the focus off my lack of laundering incapability's). So, if you can't cook, there is hope for you. I couldn't cook shit when Girth and I got hitched. Luckily for me, that man can survive on Ramen noodles and lettuce. Of all the dishes I can make, soups, pot roasts, chicken & biscuits, I am most proud of my grilled cheese. It reminds me, deep in my soul, who I am and how far I have come. 
Dreams do come true.

Perfection. Please don't let the

jealousy consume you.

It makes you ugly.

Meet Janet

Obviously, my name is not Janet. It's simply what Girth Brooks refers to me as every now and again. Here's why;

When I was pregnant, I was a bit of a freak. While there is no jealousy in my bones, my hormones took right over as baby weight consumed my hot body. Walking through a shopping mall with my poor husband and disgusted sister, I had a melt down. My husband turned his innocent head in the direction of a gymnastics studio. The scenario that carried out from there were my tears, my loud crying voice and my hate for him (I am far from a pretty cryer). I wasn't consoled until I was served my basket of clams at the restaurant.

I pulled hairs up off the interior of the car, picked up bobby pins from our living room floor. All while hissing, "Who's IS this?"... Yeah. After about two months of this, it pretty much passed.

Then Janet was born. If I asked him where something as simple as one of his shirts were, he would tell me that it was at Janet's house, if I asked where he ate lunch during work, the answer was, Janet's house...before bed, it was 'goodnight, Janet', with kisses. He obviously thought it to be super funny to call me by the name of his "other woman". It was, actually. Such a dipshit. The fact that his guitar playing skills make me want to pull my pants down to my ankles, dismisses quite a bit of his semi-retarded activity.

I know, I know. Keep your pants on ladies. His self-proclaimed 'weapon' is just for me. No, I do not mean his guitar...

JanetLovesRiot

Since I decided to start blogging, I feel like the first one should be completely informative. I'm 32 and go ahead to picture me as ridiculously good looking, because I completely am. I am married to man I will refer to as Girth Brooks, we have a child who is taking full advantage of the age of two, his name is Riot. Yes, real name, Riot. Feel free to take your judgey pants off if you want to stay around here. Things are probably going to get nasty from time to time...my mouth gets filthy, my opinions are strong and tact is a virtue that I don't have.
I like sex and I like fart jokes. I lack maturity in most things, and modesty as well. You better believe this blog is going to reflect that and any other issues I might have. Real or imagined.

Fuck.

My child just asked me for juice while smashing his sippy cup into my spine. That's pretty much going to conclude todays post.