Tinkering

Since I'm feeling a bit better today, I've squandered my time tinkering with creating a Wordpress blog. I also opened - and then quickly deleted - a Twitter account. I've had a Twitter account before, but didn't really know what it was accomplishing so I deactivated it. Then, today, it seemed like a good idea to try it again, until I posted my first tweet. It was dumb, and I deactivated myself again.

I still haven't gotten Wordpress up. I don't know why I feel compelled to cheat on Blogger, I guess I'm like a married man who just gets restless and wants to sample other sites. No offense, Married Men. Just the married men I know, specifically. More specifically, the men who I married. Those married men.

We're feeling better. Washed up all the bedroom things. Vacuumed. Dusted (a little). Made a pot of Hodgepodge Soup. That is, a pot of stuff we had available. It was a mix of chicken & turkey meats, in a beef base (because I was out of chicken bullion), rice (no noodles), and the usual soup vegetables: carrots, onions, celery. It's pretty okay tasting.

I'm still a little twingy. My mister just tried to seductively proposition me with a, "Hey, ya wanna do it?" and then did a little thrusting dance in my direction. How does one turn that offer down?? But I did, I begged off, since I'm not up to par, and frankly neither is he - he's just feeling worried because a four-day sex weekend got away from us. He's feeling a little anxious about making up for lost time. He'd rather have "sex when you're still a little sick and don't really enjoy any of it" than no sex. It'll be okay. I promise.

Now, off to get ready for my return to work. Then, 2 Tylenol PMs, a little bit of Househunters and it's lights out at the Balderson's. Or the Anderwin's.

Silver Linings All Around Me

Did I mention that Kenny's grandmother was too sick to participate in Thanksgiving? And I was trying to lend my support in the evening?

What I attributed to a case of the Bottle Flu yesterday from the night of par-tay-ing, in fact I believe is a little bit of Margie's Illness.

I've been incapacitated since yesterday evening. But on an up note, I don't believe I'll gain a single pound on this feasting holiday weekend. Every cloud....

The Mouths of Babes.

Very early on Black Friday morn, when most people were getting up for crazy shopping, and me and my mister had just rolled into the house, me loaded up on long island iced teas.

"Kenny?!! Kennnny!! Come and help me!!"

"Help you do what?? I'm in bed already!"

"I want you to just hold my toothbrush for me and I'll move my head back and forth."

"You want me to what?? Um. Get your drunkass to bed."

"I can't go to bed without brushing my teeth!"

Somehow, without any assistance at all, I managed to paste, hold and move my toothbrush around my teeth. Since he wasn't going to hold it for me, whereas I could just move my head back and forth. Is it just me who thinks that was a little unsupportive of my mister?!?

You can't find good help any more.

Oh, and p.s., he also violated Drunkard Rule #33: He let me drink and socialize, socializing being used in the loosest sense of the word. After a certain number of drinks, he's supposed to keep me segregated from the public. It's for the best of everyone involved. I think many things came out of my mouth, and I'm pretty sure wieners were part of the nonversation.

Black Friday

Meh. I'm not going to do the "Things I'm Thankful For" post. We went out last night after turkey dinner and drank. I'm hungover (a little). I'm not thankful for that. But it was fun(ish) and the bar was packed and it was just at the end of our street and our post man owns it. We were supporting the neighbor(hood).

Something.

Now? I just want to lie (lay? lei? - stupid word rules on this one) about.

Long Island Iced Teas foiled my up-at-the-crack-of-dawn shopping plans. We were going to DO IT! this year and be a part of Black Friday shopping. I have never ever done that. This was going to be the year.

Maybe I should be thankful for too much to drink, it probably saved me a ton of money not buying shit I don't need, and helped keep my stress levels low.

Kenny and I discussed pitching a tent and camping out in front of Walgreens or CVS - one of those stores that never gets shown the Black Friday love. We were going to be the first in the door for 1/2 off a bag of Dove chocolates or whatever it was they had to advertise.

But then we didn't.

We did have a nice Thanksgiving meal, with a lot of kids and it was noisy. Too noisy and I was happy to leave the screaming after a couple of hours.

Kenny's grandmother caught some sort of a stomach flu/virus. She stayed home. She was in a pretty bad way when Kenny went to check on her (we were 2 doors down with cousins). We grabbed up the grandpa and went over to tend to her because Kenny needed reinforcements. There was literally shit and vomit everywhere. She couldn't control it. I was worried she was going to dehydrate (she's 90!) so we ran to the drugstore for some shit-stopping medicine and some Pedialyte (I didn't know what else to get, but I know that's good for babies when they can't keep anything in). It was a big hotmess over there, but Kenny's mom got it squared away and everyone seems to be doing a little better today.

Today? We are headed to my cousin's, she's hosting 2nd Thanksgiving. I hope this one doesn't end with shitting or drunkardness. I'll be very thankful for that.

The end.

The Joke Is Just Too Obvious.

He's real. And he's spectacular!

Lessons In Housewifery.

Contemplating the harm that can come from washing the sink full of dishes with Bath & Body Works Sea Island Cotton shower gel.

Are all surfactants created equally??

We're just about out of toothpaste, too, and I'm already pondering suitable substitutions.

I guess it's time to fight the masses at the grocery store.

The Boys: Twink & Stan

I love them so hard.

Now Older, and With More Asshole Included!

Where to start with this story? Hm.... lemme get my cuppa coffee. It's a most spectacular flavor sold at Nervous Dog, which roasts the most seriously delicious fucking coffee. Ever. A coworker gifted me with my very own bag for my very own birthday. Yeah, the birthday where I just turned forty fucking four. The coffee makes it a little easier to swallow.

I don't want to be a big birthday crybaby. As my dad says, 'It shore beats the alternative." But seriously, fuck. I woke up from a sound sleep to greet my 44th birthday and had to hobble out of bed due to lower back stiffness. FOR NO GOOD REASON. NOT EVEN A BAD REASON. NO REASON AT ALL. My back just said, "Well, here ya go, Fucker, enjoy getting old. er." So whatever. I'm going to focus my 44th year on getting more bendy, and have been looking to dig out my pilates workout tapes. Starting tomorrow, things are going to change! Haha, poor Tomorrow. Tomorrow always has sucky shit to look forward to.

However! I did get my very own cake! Kenny bought this for me while we were at the Food Show, made in all it's frosting-ed glory at a local bakery and it did not disappoint.

It was teensy, just a single-serving size. Well, single-serving size for those of us who never met a piece of cake we didn't like. I didn't share. I'm not a good cake-sharer. Maybe I'll try and be better at that, too. While I'm stretching. Tomorrow.

We flew to St. Louis to celebrate the birthday. The birthday was just a convenient excuse, really. The casino'd been hounding us to come on down, so we finally agreed to let them fly us out there as long as they gave us food comps and a suite. They did. We had a really great room. I don't know why we're so important down there, I had $550 to take with me. Not like we're big spenders. Well, me, I'm not. Kenny had a date with doom on those machines this weekend and we don't want to talk about it. On the other hand, I won $2000!

But after I gave Kenny 30% (our split rule), paid taxes, tipped the person who paid me (common courtesy), and blew $500 in some other random machines, I came home $50 ahead. Sort of a sad ending on a $2000 win. Ah well. I still enjoyed the thrill of momentary victory.

Now we're home. We were only gone 2 nights.

The best part of the trip, outside of winning the jackpot? The shower in our suite. Kenny woke me up on Saturday morning and told me I had to get up and try the shower immediately. It had the most powerful sprayer. EV. ER. It had a rainforest sprayer that drenched you from the ceiling, and then the jet in the normal position, and then a jet for your feet or something - and it was so forceful, it cleaned every inch, inside and out.

It waterboarded me.

I was begging for mercy. I let it pound some of the stiffness out of my lower back. It not only cleansed, it exfoliated, too. Seriously, it was crazy-powerful. We took a lot of showers 'cause it was such an adventure. We had some crazy sexy times in it, too, and I thought we were going to drown from the mishmash of water sprays going every which way. We didn't.

Sorry, now once again that's something you can't unknow.

Our plane ride home was super early, we had to be in the lobby at 6:30 for our limo ride. It was really bling-ie and had lights that pulsated with different colors and reflected off the crystal decanters. I kept expecting Hugh Hefner to pop outta somewhere in his bathrobe and cavorting to ensue.

It was a little much for that early on a Sunday morning, The Lord's Day.

Luckily, we enjoyed a lot of crying babies on our early morning flight. The casino flew us out on Southwest. Not my first choice, but whatever. We thought we were picking good seats, towards the back, figuring all the babies would be up front.

Didn't quite work out.

We had a squaller in the row across from us, and up one. I realized that not only am I now in middle-age, but I'm also a really big asshole, because I glared at the parents and silently cursed them for being all righteous and not believing in using Children's Tylenol or Benedryl for quieting purposes. It would have been in the baby's best interest, I swear. They were bouncing the baby around and whatnot, and at times I couldn't tell if it (not trying to be even more of an asshole by calling it an "it", but it had an indiscernible gender) was screaming in delight or distress. Either way, it sucked.

Kenny said the baby kept staring at him for the duration of the trip. I told him he should have given the baby the finger. He laughed at the thought of it, but then told me that I really was a baby-hating asshole, or something along those lines.

It was a short flight so I'll shut up about it now.

But one last trip note. On the way to pick up our car in longterm parking, we got on the elevator and Kenny saw another couple and rushed me with a, "Hurry up!!" as he didn't want to hold the elevator for them. They weren't even the couple with the baby, they weren't even on our flight. It was quite out of character for Kenny to be an asshole. We (er, me) weren't fast enough and the people got in with us and I told them, "You know, he told me to hurry up so we wouldn't have to ride with you, I don't know what his problem is." And Kenny's mouth dropped open before he could recover himself, and then he started laughing and told them that I was just an asshole liar, and well, it was pretty funny (to me anyway) and I'm not sure they believed him, but they laughed anyway. I'm pretty sure Kenny wanted to punch me in the nuts, but I got a good laugh out of it, and that's what's important, right? Right?

I farted as I got in the car. Kenny, still recovering from my comment to the strangers, shook his head and wondered, "Couldn't you have done that BEFORE you got in the car??!" "I could have, but I wanted you to enjoy it, too."

I'm all kinds of a lady.

The Other "F" Word(s)

Forty. Four.

The Nuts Don't Fall Far From The Tree

"I'm becoming my grandmother," she muttered to herself as she found herself stuffing single-serve restaurant half & half's into her purse.

She rationalized her actions, telling herself it was just this once, because she had used up the last of the coffee creamer on Saturday, and couldn't face the crowds of Sunday Afternoon Shoppers at the grocery store.

But the packets of unused honey from Popeye's chicken stuffed in a kitchen drawer tell a truth she cannot avoid: this is becoming a habit, and not a solitary action built out of necessity.

Below the Belt

Reader, if you were ever going to pass on reading a post, I warn you: This may be the one. I wouldn't blame you one bit, and knowing that I was going to warn you to pass on it, I thought to self, "well, why even write it then? not everything needs to be blagged (wordmash: blah/blogged) about."

But then? The words, they just wanna come. Sorry.

True Story #1.

My period arrived during the middle of a work day. Hello, Friend, good to see you. Yes, I consider my period my friend. Cause it means there's no baby takin' root in my uterus and I celebrate sex that doesn't produce children. For myself. Not that there's anything wrong with it for others. Others, I emphatically repeat.

So here she is, and I need a tampon. I take the logical step of trying to buy one in the restroom, forgetting that the machine in the nearest ladies room is a quarter-sucking bitch who takes and takes, giving nothing in return.

What to do? Well, for you who may not know how ladies bathroom sanitary protection machines function, they generally have two selections: a side with pads, and a side with plugs, with separate coin slots.

I don't even know why pads exist as an option, but I've been giving it some thought for the past couple of days (when Kenny wonders what I'm lost in deep thought about, I shout out stuff like "E = MC squared!!") and have reached a couple conclusions as to why a person, given the option, would choose a pad vs. a tampon. Here are my scientific study results:

1/ Pad wins over tampon when you're having vagina hole troubles. For instance, if you just squirted a baby outta that thing, you probably wouldn't want to stick anything back in the hole for quite a while.

2/ Pad wins over tampon if maybe you've strained something down there during exercise or something. I don't know the specifics to that scenario, I just considered it as a possibility of when they might come in handy.

3/ Pad wins over tampon if you've had lot lot lot of sex and the hole just needs a rest. Again, I'm just considering scenarios.

4/ Pad wins over tampon if you're a young girl and don't want to stick anything up there just yet, like you're a really young bloomer due to all the hormones in milk and stuff, and your body has been tricked into getting ready for business, but you're still playing with dolls (ahem. no reference to myself or anything).

But I digress. So the tampon side isn't working, and I consider my options.

Option #1: The Murdoch Method. Which I've just learned from his blog post: "when you don't know what to do, do nothing." But after further consideration, I didn't think this was a situation where that would apply. I don't think that was designed for the times you have blood spraying outta yer blowhole (how my ex-husband summed up a menses).

Option #2: Roll toilet paper between your palms, forming your own tube and shoving it up there. No strings attached.

Option #3: Pay a quarter and buy a pad.

I went with Option 3. Even though, I will tell you, the whole thought of a pad is a little gross to me, but then most things that go on south of the border are questionable anyway, so what makes this special.

And then? I was pleasantly surprised by it. Once I had it nestled into place, it felt like a little pillow down there, all cushiony and nice. A little pussy pillow. That's how they should market them, if you ask me, and I bet they'd revolutionize the industry.

"Does your pussy toss and turn all night, but no matter what you try, she just can't get comfortable? Try a Pussy Pillow (I think I need to trademark this!) and help your vagina get the good night's sleep it deserves!"

"Does your pussy wake up in the morning with a stiff upper lip? Treat your vagina to a contour Pussy Pillow with memory foam, and you'll never suffer from a stiff lip again."

Dear Garth, help me. I don't know where I'm going with this.

So.

It wasn't that unpleasant. It was a little comforting and nice. That's all I'm trying to say. Comfort comes in all forms, I guess. There, how's that for an inspiring message? Epic SAVE of this story!

True Story #2.

Today is Saturday. The Saturday before my birthday. Kenny offered to take me to the Food Show as my gift, which was a super-fun idea as I'd much rather have an event than another thing in the house. So we did that today, and today I love him because he's a good good man to me, and he does very nice and thoughtful things for me, even though he's a messy person to live with. He's kind to me, cats and old people. And that's the important stuff (note to self: when you're tripping over his shit all over the house, and see the crumbs left behind in his wake, go back and re-read this!).

But anyway. Due to a little (well, huge, actually, cupcakes were used as a weapon and everything) disagreement, I've been on a laundry strike. I've been doing my own, but very sporadically, and now today, the Saturday before my birthday, I had to Pay the Piper. I hate The Piper.

I had no clean undies.

Except for one pair, balled up in the back of the drawer. The very pair that came as part of my Merry Christmas 'Santa's Little Helper' nightie get-up that someone got for Christmas last year.

They are made out of a red crushed velvet, with black velvet bows. "Ah, what the hell," I said in my head, and pulled 'em out of the drawer. I can rock the Christmas wrap around the Food Show today.

But? It quickly became obvious that these panties are not made for distance trips. They're built for show, not for go. They are a full-panty, actually, not a thong or anything, with a full "seat." But whatever is going on with them, they are NOT meant to stay up. I've never before had a full panty just roll down before! But they did, with every step, they just rolled right down in the back, until they were bunched up right underneath my ass cheeks. Couldn't keep 'em up.

I thought about taking them off completely, but I did not want to get all into removing my jeans in a public restroom, there were just too many things to consider with that move. So I left them to do their own thing and just walked around for five hours with my underwear bunched up under my ass. Good thing I wasn't wearing a pad, I don't know what that would have meant for that whole situation.

There you have it. Against my better judgement, I shared this site with a co-worker, who has her own blog and it's very inspiring and uplifting and I knew I was making a mistake because there is NONE of this she needs to know about, and I can only hope that she checked it out once and decided it wasn't for her because while most of it is pretty easy-going nonsense, sometimes I just need to share stories that concern my vagina. I don't know why, but I don't wanna become a self-censorer, either. Thank/Blame Al Gore for inventing the Internet.

Try Not To Suck Any Dick On The Way Through the Parking Lot

I got finger-fucked today. In the mouth. By a man I'd just met. In fact, I had to take the lead with a, "Hello, I don't believe we've met, I'm Trixie Bang Bang. Who are you?" And then he told me to open wide and shoved some gloved hands in my mouth and proceeded to prod me in my soft tissues.

Oh, yeah, and I had a dentist appointment today.

For which all those years of dick-sucking proved to be a good training ground for getting my gag reflex under control. Because really, I can't think of too much more mouth discomfort than having those winged x-ray cards shoved way back in my mouth, between my cheek and gum.

You may be wondering any of the following:

• How many dicks do you have to suck to get your gag reflex under control?
• Why didn't she know the dentist, I know she's been to the guy before.

Well, let me address your concern. While it was the same dental office as my prior trip, they have a mishmash of dentists and I had a different dude than before. The other dude was the youngish, cuteish one with the new wife who wanted to go to Disneyland (or World, the one in Florida) for her honeymoon, and I mocked the choice. This new dude seemed nice enough.

However.

He was a wet-talker.

When he talked, some spittle came out and landed right on my open-mouthed face (his hands were in my mouth). And some hit my lips, which is really rather intimate, don't ya think?

And? His breath, for being a dentist, was a little on the "old man smell" side. And he wasn't that old. And our faces were very close to each other.

Lastly? I have to go back. It appears I have a nearly-indiscernible cavity or something forming between some teeth. And he'd like to talk me into $5000 worth of cosmetic dentistry. Maybe he really is just trying to do anything to get into my mouth.

Eye-to-(Brown)Eye

Stan's getting back to normal. He's on an antibiotic. The vet's not sure exactly what the problem is, but he has elevated white blood cells, which tends to indicate an infection.

I'm happy that he's back to sleeping on the pillow by my head at night. You never truly appreciate a cat-ass in your face until it's gone.

Here. We. Go.

Stanley the Cat is acting tweaky. Decided not to eat last night. He was fine in the morning, but by the time I came home, he was just camped out under the guest bed and didn't want to participate in the family life.

We hauled him out and he joined us in the living room, and then stayed in bed all night on his pillow.

Needless to say, his catass was hauled to the vet this morning. He was under great distress and of course shit in his carrier, which was on my lap. So I enjoyed that smell for the duration of the ride.

Vet says all systems look good. Running some bloodwork. Gave him something for nausea and an antacid, told us to feed him some chicken-type babyfood tonight, but he has of course reclused (is that a word? If not, it should be, so I'm using it even though spellcheck disagrees with me) himself back beneath the bed since he came home.

Bloodwork results in the a.m. So far, $201 bucks for nothing. But they did clean out his shitty cat carrier and washed his ass while we were there, so that's worth about 101 of those dollars. And you sure couldn't have asked for a fresher stool sample. Which looked normal, by the way.