Dah Fuh?

The Ghostess With The Mostess

I know I’m late getting this Post-Portland-Poltergeist update on the blog, but it took me this long to recoup from four days of acting like I was 23 again. Props to my scuzzin, Mikey, who is an amazing host, often making me and Vanessa dinner or late-night snacks, showing us all around his incredible city, and taking us to the coolest bars and restaurants. Isn’t he adorbs? (ahhh the pasty glow of our pigment-lacking genetics)

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Halfway through our “reds flight” wine tasting and we’re feelin’ no pain.

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I DON’T WANT TO SEE DEAD PEOPLE!

GUYS.

I’m not even kidding. In exactly one week I’ll be staying in a haunted house for four whole days. HAUNTED. Like for reals.

You know I love this shit. I mean, duh, I wrote about it. I’m obsessed with the paranormal and I love watching shows about ghosts or ghost hunters. But that’s on TV.

As in from AFAR.

I am not down with close and personal ghost encounters. I repeat: I am not down with it.

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Ohmigosh, she’s NAKED!

There are lovely things about having a friend from across the pond, regardless of which side of that pond you reside. It’s a keyhole view into another world, where cultural norms may differ. There’s also the added benefit of hearing their accent whenever you want. *swoon*

But sometimes these cultural norms can be utterly bewildering. Shocking, even. My guest today is someone most of you know and LoveAdoreCherish as much as I do: Lizzi of Considerings. She has a tale of culture clash that will leave you shivering in your knickers….or some English phrase like that, and I haven’t the foggiest notion who this mystery ‘Murican is. See if you can guess.

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How well do you know us?

We are having so much fun over on the SisterWives Speak blog today! We’ve compiled a list of weird and random facts about each of us and now you get to play a matching game. I didn’t even know some of these, so I’m not going to claim it’ll be easy for you, but I guarantee it’ll make you laugh.

Make a guess…or five. I DOUBLE-DOG-DARE YOU!

Bush Talk With Beth

My face must be wrinkle free, despite forty-three years soaking up sun on this planet. My tits need to be full and perky, even though two children sucked them dry. My ass should be round and tight like a ripe peach regardless of gravity and lack of lunges. My body and face are expected to be hairless and flawless, my toes perfectly polished on the end of callous-free feet. And then I open a magazine and find out I’ve been evidently neglectful of another area: my vaheina.

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What. The. Fuck.

And here I thought the three R’s were Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.

I get it to some degree. Childbirth can shred your junk, resulting in genuine insecurity and embarrassment. Sure. Get that shit fixed if you feel you need to.

Maybe I’d be more concerned if my hoo-ha was being featured in Lady Gardens magazine. Or if I fear I’ll accidently show it to my chiropractor again. Until then, I’m good.

But hymenoplasty? Who wants their hymen back? Maybe I’m missing something…please explain this to me. If it’s fo real, I’ll put it on my Christmas list.

And G-spot shots? A SHOT. IN MAH VAG.

How could this possibly be worth a needle in my situation? So I looked it up. The shot (hyaluronan, a collagen based filler) claims to make the G-spot area larger for more frequent and intense multiple and/or spontaneous orgasms. I admit, that’s intriguing. Supposedly, it’s a painless procedure (said a man, probably) which can cost up to $1,000 and lasts roughly four months. Women are doing this in droves.

Ya’ll. There are even G-spot parties. That brings a whole new meaning to, “I’ll bring the spread.”

I can’t even….

….or could I? Is the new “pamper me” splurge a mani/pedi/vagi?

Would you? Could you? Have you? Dying to hear your thoughts on this?

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43 Random Thoughts, And I Might Be A Visionary.

I took my kids to the movies today. Luckily, we scored seats in the very back row, which means mommy can play on her phone….until my 10yo got all preachy about it and made me get off because he was afraid we’d get kicked out. I find that goody-two-shoes behavior ironic when he’s the one who did this magical project in school, which his father and I saw for the first time displayed ON THE WALL at open house this past Thursday. It’s titled (I shit you negative) “How To Be A Pain In The Bum”

 

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Nudie Resorts And The Ass Dance

You probably saw the title and thought, “definitely a Beth post”, but this time the words aren’t mine, I swear! I have to thank Sandy for inspiring me to look up search terms people have used that led to my blog. According to some of the searches, these people are perverted weirdos. No problem there. That there’s my tribe.

 

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At Least I Was Wearing A Bra

I’m over at Menopausal Mother’s blog today talking about one of the most embarrassing things I’ve ever done.

Ever had one of those misunderstandings? Like when someone says, “I ate a lot of cheeses” and you respond, “You ate Jesus?”

Yeah. Multiply that times a thousand. I don’t even know where to begin, or how to justify my logic at the time…I…uh…

Well, just read for yourself here. *hides face*

Night Of The Menage Attack, Take 2.

**This is a re-post from September when about ten people were reading me, but it’s freakin’ crazy-in-a-good-way and needs to be let out into the wild again.

Now back to our regularly scheduled program….

SO I went to a party over the weekend at a neighbor’s house down the street. I sat in the backyard for the first half of the evening with a friend, sipping drinks and enjoying the cool breeze. The hubs was with me for the first hour or so, but for the part of the story in question he was at home getting beauty sleep since he’s ambitious and does things on weekends like triathlons. Weirdo. (more…)