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)
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.
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!
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.
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?
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”
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*
**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…)
“How do you feel about the eighteenth?” I asked Jim, my fiancé at the time, while trying to plan our trip. I’d never desired a wedding, so we chose to elope and surprise everybody.
“Works for me,” he shrugged.
“Okay cool because Aunt Flo will happen the week before so I think we’d be clear even if I was late, but there’s no way I’d be that early.”
“Whatever you wanna do is fine with me,” he said kissing the top of my head.
“Cool! We have a wedding date!”
Fast forward to August 19th, in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. We had just become husband and wife, and were enjoying our week long honeymoon. We were hiking a trail that ran along the perimeter of Leigh Lake. It was close to sunset. We rounded a corner….and froze.
We’d read all the advisories: “what to do if you come face-to-face with a bear“:
Don’t turn your back to them, it’s too submissive and they will attack.
Don’t look them in the eye, it’s a challenge to them.
Don’t run, you’ll elicit a chase.
Back away slowly so they know you’re not a threat.
But when fear seizes your throat, the fright and flight instinct has a way of moving your muscles for you.
We turned around, immediately breaking the first rule. Shocked. Scared. We began walking away, quickly, but good lord it was such an effort to keep from running. We had no idea if it was following us.
After what seemed like forever and every cuss word in the book uttered under panicked breath, we braved a quick, over-the-shoulder glance.
Whew! The trail was clear, but we didn’t slow our pace. Gripping each other’s arms we continued to fast-walk the hell outa there.
“Wow, that fucker was huge,” I panted. “It was so creepy the way it was just standing in the trees, swaying.”
“Standing? I saw it run across the trail towards the water. Looked like a baby.”
A chill ran up my spine. “Mother of God, there were two! A mother and her baby! Mothers are the most aggressive!”
“Holyshitholyshitholyshit we were just so damn lucky!” he said glancing over his shoulder again.
As soon as we confirmed she wasn’t after us, we started running. In fact we ran like chicken-shits all the way back to the car.
Half an hour later we arrived at our hotel room, still shaken, not able to believe what had just happened. You hear about seeing bears in the wild, but when you actually see one right in front of you, it’s astonishing how terrified and vulnerable you feel.
I went to the restroom to empty my full bladder, relieved I hadn’t peed my pants in the woods, and that’s when I realized something horrific.
The bear sighting had scared me so bad, it awakened Aunt Flo.
Three weeks early.
On my honeymoon.
Have you ever had a bear encounter, or seen some other large animal in the wild? Or, have you ever had a vacation ruined by something unexpected? I love to hear your stories!
Most of you are probably familiar with the Christmas Elf. You’ve seen him in all the stores as soon as the holidays officially arrived. You know, a week before Halloween. I admit, I didn’t know much about him until last year when my boys started reporting other kids in our neighborhood had elves and I began hearing, “Why don’t we have one, Mom?”
So I told them to wish for one, real hard, and wouldn’t ya know it, the tiny little guy showed up in our house. And by showed up, I mean I went to Target and paid $30 for the “kit” so my boys could have even more joy and wonder over the holidays.
Each child names his own elf. The boys named ours Tommy.
There’s definitely parent benefit to this deal. The elf’s job is to watch kids and report back to Santa. Talk about bribery. I can’t count how many times I’ve said, “You’d better watch your behavior, the elf is watching!” And it works. It really works. But at the same time, it sort of pisses me off that they’re being good for the damn elf and not just cuz they’re supposed to be…but oh well, tis the season of trying to get on that coveted nice list.
It was kind of sweet, too. In case you’re not familiar, the elf moves every night. Each morning when the boys awoke, their first thought was to find the elf, and to hear their squeals of delight did provide me with a smile. At first. But thirty days of remembering to do this (and I didn’t always remember) can beat even the most enthusiastic parent down.
The boys would report to me what their friend’s elves were doing: “Tyler’s elf brings him presents”; “Olivia’s elf writes her notes”; “Caden’s elf has special clothes.”
Oh, so we’re upping the ante are we? I hear you loud and clear, Tommy.
Loud. And. Clear.
I not only had to remember to move him each night, but had to answer endless questions in tiny, swirly elf writing about his age, his life back “home”, and Santa, with little candies and gifts accompanying the return notes. Worse, the marketing dynamos behind this ruse had come up with little outfits you could buy to dress the elves in scarves and booties. Cuz why wouldn’t a stuffed doll be cold?
Tommy was starting to cause me some serious anxiety. In affect, this little elf had me by the round ‘n fuzzies.
I was being tugged in two directions: the innocent exuberance in which the boys loved and interacted with the elf was truly precious. On the other hand, I felt resentful towards the whole expectation behind it, and I was getting competitive with other elves.
At war with an elf. Who wasn’t alive. In fact, I’m the friggin’ elf. My god….I gave him the finger when I walked by…..something’s so wrong with me…..
I made it through last year, but I have to say I was thrilled when it was time to pack that little effer away.
This past Sunday we were unpacking all the Christmas décor, and my 6yo found Tommy inside a Santa hat. I could’ve sworn I deliberately put him in a box in our closet to avoid this very scenario.
I was immediately hit with a barrage of questions:
“How could Tommy be in our Christmas stuff?”
“I thought he was supposed to come from the North Pole?”
“Why didn’t he bring us presents?”
“Is this a different one?”
“Is Tommy dead?”
Well played, Tommy. Well played. I have two words for your tiny elf ears:
Have you ever waged war with an inanimate object? Is there a holiday tradition you’re not crazy about? Do you have one of these elves? If so, how do you feel about it? I heart your comments BIG!
A sizzling romance is unfolding right before our eyes.
Perhaps the most evocotive app of all time was recently introduced by Kindle, but they’re not touting it as anything other than helpful. No-o-o. The makers of Kindle are being giant teases. They’re baiting us. Flirting. Easing us in with a sweet little story. Before you even know what’s hit you, the new Kindle will be on your wish list, and you won’t even really know why.
MAYDAY IS WHY
Have you seen their new ad campaign? See for yourself and we’ll discuss:
Okay, so let’s talk. The guy is adorable and dresses nice. His house is bad-ass and unbelievably impeccable. The cleanliness suggests a wife (you know I’m right), yet there’s not a single sign he’s married in sight. Go back and watch it. No sign of family. No toys on the floor, no family portraits, no
bra hanging on the doorknob purse on the counter. There’s a guitar mounted in the family room – he plays guitar – hot. A big-ole-doggie sits on the other side of the coffee table. Nice. A dog guy. And did you notice the sexual tension between him and “Amy”? Yeah. Guess how many times he’s gonna need the Mayday button later that night…..
If you had any doubt whether he’s single or if they were really flirting….they’ve come out with a second and third commercial (FF through the first one):
Still no kids or wifey! He does, however, have a niece, and shows Amy her photo….total chic bait! Between the dog, the guitar, and the cute niece, Amy doesn’t stand a chance. Did you see her get all giggly?! Hell, she would have done the hair flip if it wasn’t plastered to her head. Oh, and I don’t buy for a second that she can’t see him. They are soooo gonna DO IT.
I went on a couple of websites to research the new Kindle and I was tantalized by the descriptions. It’s described as coming in either 7″ or 8.9″ depending which model you choose, sheathed in sleek magnesium alloy. Powerful operation system (are they selling a Kindle or the Rabbit?). The Mayday app allows users to seek advice about their device, and operators can even take control of your device from afar (me likey).
I don’t know about you, but I’m wondering two things: 1) what happens when I press the Mayday button? Will I get a hot guy? Because if I don’t, the disappointment will be palpable, and 2) I can’t wait for the next installment of “50 Shades of Kindle” because it’s all sweet and innocent now, but I feel like that cutie with the guitar has a naughty side…
Do you currently own a Kindle of any model? Have you ever felt the need for live help? Would you use a live help if you had it? Let’s get a conversation going – I’m dying to hear from you!