Sunday, January 30, 2005

Where I use the words Cock, Pubic and Bargains

Since I'm super kinky and not in the least shy, I'm going to share a sex story with you, my readers. Both of you. If either of you are offended by discussions of cock rings, pubic hair or bargain shopping... Well, consider yourself warned.

I had never used a cock ring (or better yet, my husband hadn't used a cock ring) up until a few weeks ago. The story of us using this cock ring (no matter what C says) is hilarious. We researched cock rings online for a few weeks. Porn sites, naughty toy stores, erotic stories. We wanted to have "all the facts". That's just NOT something I would want to fuck up. Know what I mean? I can imagine it now... "HONEY, It's tangled in my PUBIC HAIR!!"

Anyway...

C and I like to budget our money. We don't normally buy a bunch of big ticket items unless we really need it. How hard could it be to find a "substitute" for a cock ring? Well, I'm here to tell ya... Cock rings don't have substitutes. We tried an O-ring first. You know what I'm talking about. The type of thingy that you put on the back of a washing machine... Well, it wouldn't stretch very well. (Read - It was TOO small) Sooo, we decided what the hell.

We decided to use a rubber band.

Don't laugh. It sounded good at the time.

Me being a woman, I want the rubber band to be as tight as possible. (The tighter the better, right?) So, I wrap it around his cock.... Twice. He grimaced a little but left it on... Well, we got into it pretty hot and heavy.... and his manly parts were HUGE. Much sooner than I would have liked he starts to slow down. I'm still clawing his chest and trying to keep him going. (Picture spurs and bronc riding) Suddenly, he stops. In mid-stroke. JENN, WE HAVE TO STOP!

Noooooo! Noooooo! You don't have to stop. It will be fiiiine. Keep going!

JENN WE HAVE TO STOP!

Ok... Fine.

By this time, he is doubled over in the middle of the bedroom, screaming at me to go get some scissors.I felt this had to be a bit drastic. Scissors! Ohhhh, To cut the rubber band!! Gotcha. Well, to make a long story longer.. I ran to the kitchen, got some scissors and flew back in to find his balls turning an odd burgundy color and his face closer to the color of white-out. HONEY, Its tangled in my pubic hair!! At this point, I just collapse laughing. Poor C.. He didn't find it half as funny as I did.

Eventually, we did get the cock ring male torture device rubber band cut off of his poor nutsack and he has thankfully made a full recovery.

I wonder if I can still talk him into trying a real one.....?

Saturday, January 29, 2005

Space case.

How screwed up is it that I can spell any word that she asks, but 90% of the time, I can't remember my own phone number.

Her: Spell pneumonia.
Me: p-n-e-u-m-o-n-i-a
Her: Spell February.
Me: f-e-b-r-u-a-r-y
Her: Spell Polygamy.
Me: p-o-l-y-g-a-m-y (ok, she didn't ask me to spell THAT word)
Her: Spell hysterically.
Me: h-y-s-t-e-r-i-c-a-l-l-y
Her: How much did Clayton weigh when he was born?
Me: Ummmm... well... ummm... It was 8lbs and like maybe 12oz... ?
I'll have to look into that.

Please tell me that I'm not the only one harboring this affliction.


Friday, January 28, 2005

Be prepared!

The next time you pack for a long vacation, be prepared! Pack atleast 3 cases of beer in case of an avalanche. You never know when your going to have to pee your way out of a snowbank.

This is the most compelling argument that I've ever seen in favor of alcoholic beverages and beer in general.

Edited to add the right link since I'm an unobservant idiot. Thanks Krista.

Thursday, January 27, 2005

Wicked Interview no. 2

After interviewing Kelly, I realized that she was one of those people that I will never really know. She is smart, talented, spunky and sweet. She rarely watches tv and hates when people read over her shoulder. (God, I hate that too!) She loves musicals, flavored lip gloss and Old Navy Jeans. Kelly is ultra-competitive and currently attending school to get her Ph.D. Get this folks, she turned down the opportunity to go to Medical School. She is one smart cookie. She plays the violin and only eats nuts when she wants to swell up to the size of Kirstie Alley. Kelly loves to have her neck kissed and secretly fantasizes about Dave Matthews.

Kelly, you handled my invasive questions with amazing aplomp. I'm honored to call you my friend. Online or otherwise.

On to the questions -



1. What's your name and do you know what it would have been, had you been a boy?


My name is Kelly. I don't post my last name online, but let me assure you that my first and last named coupled are the most unoriginal pair ever. My mother wanted to give me a good Irish name. She was hell bent on me being a girl. If I had been a boy, she probably would have demanded that the doctor perform a little "cosmetic surgery" and I could be really screwed up right now. ;-)

Well, look on the bright side. If the doctor had screwed up and left the "boy stuff", your name would have been appropriate either way.

*Shakes at the thought of Kelly the hermaphrodite*

Boy stuff is icky. I am glad I lacked the parts from birth.

2. Do you have any children? What are their names? If you don't have any, do you have any names picked out?

I don't have children. But if I ever have a son, his name will be Lysander after the character from Shakesphere's "A Midsummer Night's Dream" because I think it is a beautiful name. And I will kick the shit out of any of his little classmates that try to make fun of him because of it. See...thinking ahead. :)

Why don't you just name him "Sue"?

Hmph. You are one of the evil parents I will need the taser for. Oh yes. I will dominate the PTA to make sure those bitches don't make fun of my son's beautiful name.

Hey, remind me not to piss you off.

3. Do you hate the very thought of children and completely resent the last question?

I hate the thought of pushing something roughly
the size of a watermelon out of a hole smaller than a tennis ball. Other than that, I think kids are great, which is why I plan to adopt any that I have. Besides the obvious selfish reasons, it isn't important to me that my children actually have my blood and there are so many already here that aren't being given a fair shot so I'd rather give an opportunity to one of those than bring another into the world. If this is an issue for my future husband, I might consider having one. Or perhaps by then the wonders of science will allow him to carry our love child to term. One can only hope.

Adoption is a very honorable choice. I'm always astounded at the selflessness of foster parents and adoptive parents. Plus, you have something to blackmail them with when they're
sixteen.

Plus if they come out fucked up, I won't have to worry that it was MY recessive genes that did it. *nods*

Yea, I've always wondered how my Mom felt about that...

4. How many brothers and sisters do you have? Tell me a funny story about you and a sibling. (if you have one)

I have one brother who is 11 years old. When he was in pre-K, he went to a private Baptist school. They were putting on their little Christmas pagent so I went to watch. And there I see my brother, sitting in a pew, with one arm around one girl and one arm around another. A player at 5 years old. *shakes head* I blame my mother. She taught him how to do pretty eyes at the ladies in the hair salon to get extra candy. Ever since then, he flirts with everyone.

I know how them Baptist' are. Playas. My over-sexed husband is a Baptist. A BIG ASS Southern one.

I once dated a guy who was Southern Baptist. I am nondenominational and his pastor told us we were both going to hell, me for not being baptist and my bf for "yolking with an unbeliever".

Yea, I tried "yolking" once, I found it to be a bit messy for my tastes.

5. What's your current occupation and what was the WORST job ever.

I am a student by day and citylife goddess by night. I also work on a Crisis Hotline and at an impatient clinic for homeless drug addicts who have been dually diagnosed with mental disorders. I do clinical assessments there. But I don't get paid for any of that. My worst job ever was in the fast-food industry when I was 16. Never EVER again.

Did you go home smelling like fried chicken every day?

No. There was no chicken involved. And if there would have been I would have refused to touch it.

*Sigh* You're a lucky girl Kelly. My first job was at Kentucky Fried Chicken and the supervisor walked around the restaurant with no shoes on. Fried chicken will never be the same.

6. If you were a condiment; which condiment would you be and why?

Salsa. Because it's hot and addicting and will surprise you when your gaurd is down. ;)

I hope you don't burn anyone's mouth... Hot Cha cha cha.

7. I read on your blog that your 4'11" tall; tell me one way in which being "shorter" has affected your personality.

It has made me the queen of batting my eyelashes to get boys to do things for me. This skill was derived from first being cute in order to commission boys to get tall things, but it has overflowed into other aspects of life for which I sometimes require a manslave...err...assistant. :)

Does this require the use of leather as well? I could let you borrow my C's cuffs.

8. When you lay your head down at night, to drift off after a long days work, what is the one thing that is sure to spring to mind.

"6 a.m. is going to hurt". LOL.

Especially after a party filled with margaritas and "assistance from the assistant".

9. Have you ever had sex in a car? Give me every juicy detail.

Looking for some ideas, Jenn? ;) Nice girls don't kiss and tell. :P

It was worth a try.

10. Do you believe in Astrology (i.e. horoscopes, palm reading, fortune telling) or in other words- Hey baby, What's your sign?

No. And if a guy ever said that to me I would contemplate kicking him.


Or you could punch him. Especially if he's really REALLY tall, because then it would be right at that perfect height for him to truly remember not to EVER ask you about your sign again. ;-)

---------------------------------------------------------

I SO want to party with you Kelly.

Go. Check her out. Leave a comment.
(Tell her that Jenny sent you.)


Wednesday, January 26, 2005

ASS-ay contest

It's time to tell everyone all about your ass. Or your girlfriends ass. A well written comedy starring your baby's cute little pinchable bottom would work. I know that almost everyone reading my blog is a writer, take the time to type up a cute story about anything ass-related and you could win FAME and FORTUNE. Ok, maybe it will be nothing more than notoriety and a free gmail account, but think about the fun! See below -


Hello Ass Fans!The Girls here at The Ass Chronicles need your help.We're desperate for more ASSertiveness, ASSociates and ASSignations.So, if you've been asking yourself "what about MY ass?", now is YOUR time. Email us ass.chronicles@gmail.com your best ASS story pertaining to pretty much *anything ASS related. (Perhaps a story about your own ass, a friend's ass, a celebrity ass, the chick from the coffee shop's ass, or even a cute little baby ass.) If we find it hilarious and vote your story one of the top 3 funnies, we will post it on our blog. In fact, we will post your story, and a glowing review of YOUR ass on every one of our blogs. Plus, we will link to you here on The Ass Chronicles and send you a Gmail invite to boot. Email us YOUR ass story and if we laugh our asses off - You win!

*Keep it PG-13 please.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Just ask me.

Tonight, time honored traditions spanning the decades were proven true; yet again.

It was about 10pm and we were relaxing with a cup of coffee on the front porch (yea, we're a bunch of old farts) and C decides to bring out the telescope. Excellent idea in light of the almost totally full moon. He drags out the clunky large telescope and gets it all set up and then heads off, back into the house. Krista and I sat there for atleast 5 minutes, chatting and basking in the moonlight while we listened to C rummage about in the house. I could hear him searching through the desk and then on to the bedroom and the highboy, eventually he even made his way into the garage. Finally, he yanks open the front door and stands over us with his hands on his hips and states (in a surly tone) "Where is my eyepiece?!" (the little black thingy-ma-bob that attaches to the telescope and allows us mere mortals to view the moon's craters. Why he doesn't know where his expensive toy .. stuff is; is beyond me.)

With all of the grace that I could muster - I walk inside and straight to the basket that holds the eyepiece.

Next time, oh ye of so much testosterone - just ask me.

Monday, January 24, 2005

What A little girl

I’ve done it, I have finally pried Jennifer’s cute ass out of the computer chair and have (temporarily) seized control. I had to kick her out to be able to tell everyone what a little girl Miss Krista is. I had to do it, because Jenn wouldn’t.

Let me preface this by saying, I haven’t laughed this hard in a LONG time. It was about 9:00 o’clock or so on Sunday night and all the kids were in bed (amazing story in and of itself) and I finally had some time to sit and watch my hunting shows without kid or grown up interruption. So there I was laying on the bed, enjoying my cereal and my TV when in comes the gruesome twosome. As K walks by, she turns my TV off. She knows how terribly bad this annoys me because she made the mistake of doing this once before, in the middle of overtime during a Dallas Stars playoff game. Not a pretty sight. Well now, she MUST pay. I have to wait until the opportune moment. I am sitting there, thinking of how I can torture her what I can do and BAM!, the perfect opportunity presents itself. Krista sits on the edge of the bathtub and is talking with Jenn and she suddenly falls over backwards into the tub. That was funny, but it wasn’t the funniest part. She commences to make herself comfortable sitting in the bathtub with her feet on the edge, so I jump into action. The bedroom door was already closed, so I get up and turn off the bedroom light. Then I turn off the closet light, and finally the bathroom light. It was DARK and she couldn’t see me. She starts frantically yelling “stop it, stop it”, all the while, I am sneaking closer to the bathtub. Based on how graceful she is , I know she wasn’t about to try and get out of the tub in the dark Jenn is just dying laughing and K’s squealing, so I go in for the kill shot. I sneak up to the tub and slowly reach over and grab her ankle. If I hadn’t known better, you would have sworn that she had been shot. She let out the loudest, blood curling scream that I have ever heard. It was all I could do to keep from falling on the floor laughing.

What a little girl!

(Guest post by Chris.)

Sunday, January 23, 2005

What threatened to drive me crazy-

-Realizing that I need to put milk on the grocery list when we get down to only one GALLON left. My kids are going to start moo'ing.

-Watching my best friend make macaroni-n-cheese in the most difficult way possible. Instead of just dumping everything in the pan after she drained the pasta, she has to mix the milk that has been measured in the CLEAN measuring cup with the powdered cheese ever so perfectly in a seperate CLEAN bowl and then use a CLEAN spatula to scrape the cheesy milk from the sides of the now DIRTY bowl.

Just dump it in the damn pan already miss ocd queen!!

(Although, I must say that it was MOST excellent macaroni-n-cheese.)

-Watching the 2 pre-teen divas bicker endlessly while cleaning their room. Or something that resembled cleaning.

-Taking care of not one but two sick children. My poor little babies.

-
Getting my ass stomped at pool.


What kept me sane -


-Realizing that more often than not, the radio will go up louder than the kids can yell.

-Date night with Chris and all of the chinese food that I could eat, cold beer that I could drink, and pool ... oh the pool. I don't want to even discuss the pool. (Maybe I should move this one to the crazy side... )

-Her blonde moments that bring me so much laughter. For example, tonight when she was sitting on the edge of the bathtub chatting with me and ever so gracefully tumbles backwards into the bathtub. Classic.

-His kisses.




How was your weekend?

Saturday, January 22, 2005

I'm getting my ASS kicked.

Well internet, I'm afraid that I'm down for the count. I'm getting my
ASS KICKED by css. Cascading style sheets have become the bane of my subsistence. I promised Krista that I would design a new template for her, and I'm afraid that she is actually going to MAKE me follow through.

What I've been doing for the past 3 days -

  • Working my way through the css and html tutorials at W3C.
  • Downloading StyleMaster in an effort to cheat the complicated css system, to no avail.
  • Copy and pasting NUMEROUS css templates and picking them apart in a fruitless effort to recreate the css genius of others.
  • Pulling my hair out.
I consider myself a fairly intelligent woman, with a decent grasp on html, tables, graphic design, etc., but css is somehow alluding me. The more I learn, the less I know.

If ANYONE out there in the world wide internet knows of ANY way possible for me to learn css AND keep my hair, please point me in the right direction. I need a hands on, step-by-step tutorial for creating a BLOGGER template using css. I have the graphics completely DONE, the colors chose, the words written and the css is completely, absolutely FUCKED. Do I sound frustrated? GOOD.

Help.

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

Wicked Interview no. 1

As I wander in out of your blogs, reading and getting to know you, I find myself wanting to know more. I find myself wanting to know things that no meme has ever covered; like what type of toothpaste you use and if you like to have your ears nibbled. I felt myself being transported back, way back to 1990 and my brief stint as a hard-hitting reporter for the PaImer high school yearbook committee. {*sigh* the good 'ole days} I feel the need to get to know you better, to unlock the secrets to your hidden laundry habits and shower gel preferences. Did you go to your Senior Prom? Did you get the girl? Do you wear socks with your sandals?

I couldn't decide who to begin with first, but pride took over and dictated that I start with the person closest to me. That way, if I fuck up royally or make myself look like a total ass, it will have been in front of someone who HAS to like me. My sister-friend, Krista was forced happy to be my first interviewee. Wicked.




Hey sweetie, Thank you SO much for being my first participant. Just think when I'm famous and on the Oprah show for my in depth blogger interviews, you can say that you were the first. Haha!

I'm really excited to be here and to be able to participate in such a
landmark event. It's an honor I will cherish and carry to my grave. I
am getting a plaque for this right?

Ummmm... well... actually, I wasn't planning on giving out plaques. I was thinking about making a bunch of those really cool buttons like we did in 6th grade. Remember those? Buttons are super-duper cool. Plaques are so 1993. But, if you really REALLY want a plaque, I'll make sure that you get one.

I want my damn plaque.

Fine, ok. Such hostility! Can we move on to the questions now?

Ok.


Tell me your name, age, occupation, marital status and anything else extremely personal that you wouldn't mind the entire internet knowing about.


What's in a name? I have several, the most common being my birth name, Krista Michelle. I will be the ripe age of 33 come July 23rd. I am currently self employed, but desperately seeking a full time job with benefits, like a regular paycheck. I have been divorced since 2001, and recently broke off an engagement.

Don't you mean the ripe OLD age of 33?

No, I didn't mean that.

and just how big of an asshole was your ex?

Yeah, I can pick them can't I?

That's an understatement.


Where did you grow up and did anything in particular happen to permanently scar your eating habits.

I grew up in a small town in North Central Texas, on a street called Cosey. I grew up in a southern home, with the mentality that you will try everything on the table. You don't have to like it, but you have to try it. I absolutely hated oatmeal. Well, my mother decided to force me to eat it. Wasn't pretty, I threw up oatmeal all over the kitchen. So, yeah, you could say I was scarred by that. I have serious texture issues when it comes to food now.

Ewwww. I'm sorry I asked.

Who was your best friend, and is she the most wonderful, trusted friend you've ever had in your whole entire life?

Um...well. She's this mentally unbalanced redhead, quite quirky, would lose her ass if it wasn't attached and is absolutely the coolest chic I know.

Maybe I she should try that losing the ass trick... Do you just let go and it falls off, or what?

Yeah, I know...I was in the closet the other day gossiping with her pants, you wouldn't believe the shit they were saying about her ass. I just don't have the heart to tell her, so that's off the record.

What are you trying to say?

{Note: Folks the funniest part about the last two responses is that we actually do talk like that. And we understand each other. }

Moving on.

Tell me about your first car.

Oh my...this brings back some serious memories. It was a 1985 Ford Tempo, four door, and it was powder blue. It broke down atleast once a week and more often than not, while you were driving it. I loved that car though, it was the first car I had and the first car I ever bought
on my own. It was also the biggest piece of shit, I have a certificate to prove it.

Yea. That car hated me.

Where was your first place of employment and did your boss wear a hairpiece?

My first job ever? When I was 14 I worked in a soda shop owned by one of my mom's friends. I got to eat ice cream all day so it was cool. I also learned how to make cream gravy while working there. She did not wear a hear piece, she did however wear a wig. (I swear I did not make that up)

Tell me about your 8th grade banquet dress.

Why must you get personal?

Because I just can't help myself. And besides, you were FUCKING ADORABLE in that poofy fuschia gown with the sky-high beehive and purple glittery eyeshadow.

Fuck you. Just for that, I will come into your room one night, after you've fallen asleep and smother you with your own pillow.

Wow. Such hostility! Remind me to get you drunk BEFORE we start the interview, instead of during.

Who was your very first kiss? Are you still in contact with him or do you atleast know which Country he lives in?

I remember this like it was yesterday, I was 14, and his name was Eric. His grandmother lived next door to my aunt, and our mothers had grown up together. It was my first date, and his mom took us to the movies. He kissed me on the way home that night, in the back seat of his mom's Trans Am. He was HOT, he had a mustache too. Hey, back then that was cool. The last I heard, He's still living in Scurry, married with two kids.

What is your favorite vegetable?

Potatoes, hands down. Their just so flexible.

I concur. Potatoes are quite exceptional for cooking and shooting purposes. Or atleast thats what my redneck cousin told me.

What's your favorite comfort food?

This is by far the hardest questions yet. It's just impossible to narrow it down to just one. I once consumed an entire Boston Cream Pie, after a break up.

Why am I not suprised.

Shut the fuck up.

Tsk tsk. Such words for a pretty girl.

Tell me about your favorite scent of all time.

It would be the smell of my grandmothers house. Her pillows always smelled musty. It brings back fond memories of the year we lived on the coast.

Mmmmm... Must. One of my favorite smells of all time. Right up there with skunk and hot beer.

Are you trying to piss me off? Is this the way you conduct an interview? We can take this outside.

Actually, no I wasn't trying to piss you off, but obviously that's not a difficult task. =)

Do you have any kids? Do they know that you're a comment whore?

I have a wonderful 12 year old walking emotional time bomb. Not many people know that I'm a comment whore. It's not something I planned. It just happend. To be honest, I'm really not proud of it. I'm currently seeking therapy for it.

Maybe you could try some anger management classes while you're at it?

What are the three things that you would take with you on a deserted island.

Depends, do I have electricity? Just how deserted are we talking? I'm confused...I don't like this question either.

The island is DESERTED Krista.

Ok ok ok. A lifetime supply of jerky, Ben Burnley, and a lifetime supply of condoms.

So you intend to eat and have sex. Sounds like a plan.

What are you afraid of?

Water, large bodies of water. There are things in there that can eat me. Or worse, enter my body in places that we won't discuss. That's just not cool.

Yea, that sounds painful. I can dig it. *snort*

Did you just snort?

Ahem! What are you most proud of?

My friends and family. I hit the lottery when it comes to the outstanding support group I have.

Do you like Katie Couric, and if so WHY?

Did she do a guest shot on Will and Grace? I don't really know anything about her, so I can't really answer that.

Trust me. You wouldn't like her.

Tell me why you liked/hated this interview.

I loved it, because I was the first! No one will ever be before me.

Plus I get a plaque right?

Ok. Ok! I'll get you a damn plaque. Could you shut up about that already?

You rock.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I'll shut up now and give you a chance to ask Krista some highly personal questions of your own. Show her some love.


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And that concludes our first interview. Thanks for sticking around this long. If you would like to be the subject of a Wicked Interview, please e-mail me.


Tuesday, January 18, 2005

Where they try to win you over with cuteness.

My kids think that they can force me to forgive all transgressions; just because they're so cute that I want to eat them with a spoon, BUT I am on to their game.


Clayton is guilty of the following and SO MUCH MORE.

Exhibit A - Today as I'm making his lunch he hiccups loudly.

Clayton - "HICCUP!" *pause* ""Hiccup!" *pause* "Mommy, Clayton has the hiccups."

This is the first time EVER that he has referred to himself in the third person. I'm sorry, but that is entirely too cute and therefore unacceptable.

Exhibit B - He has quirks on top of quirks. Quirkiness could be construed as adorable. As I'm finishing his sandwich he yells from the living room "Don't fowget to cut into a pizza!"

I'm sorry, but just typing that gave me the giggles.

These kids must be stopped before they take over everything with the cuteness! Umm... well... before they take the rest of it over!

An "Aha!" moment

I've never met an ice cream that I didn't like.

Krista and I were discussing our favorites and she was explaining her penchant for the finer ice creams. I realized that I don't care what brand it is, I'm going to eat it. And eat it. And eat it. And that internet, is why I need to become lactose intolerant. I need to take a pill, or get a shot, or undergo some sort of deep hypnosis, that will MAKE me lactose intolerant. They have a pill for everything but noooo, not for the really important stuff. Like saving your ass from dairy products.

These are things that I have never, ever said about ice cream-

"Ewww... this ice cream is horrible!"
"Yuck! Way, way too creamy."
"Too much chocolate."
"Are these fresh strawberries? Gross!"
"Does this have nuts? I hate nuts!"

These are things that I have said about ice cream-

"OhMyGod, this chocolate chip cookie dough taste like how love feels! SWEET."
"Peppermint ice cream makes me want to skip about and twirl, twirl, twirl!"
"Hot hot hot fudge... yea...mmmm...ahhh... GOD! YES!"
"Can I have extra whipped cream? Please. "



Monday, January 17, 2005

Reason #412 why I live in a small town.

As I'm walking into the super-behemoth-discount-store today, I realize that I've forgotten my all-important list. NOOO! I say to myself as I stomp a little bit and pirouette around to head BACK to my truck. I pushed my basket into a corner and walked stalked back outside, into the cold. As I hop into the truck and fondle my key fob I realize that I don't have a purse. I have a keyfob, but no purse. Wait a minute. Did I bring my purse? My mind goes blank for about 30 seconds and I start to frantically search my truck, front and back seat for my lost mind purse. Can you feel how my heart was pounding? Let me first say that there was maybe $3.17, a checkbook, a drivers license and a great lipgloss in my purse, but not much else. It's just replacing these things, and the pain in the ass that it becomes that makes me go frantic at the thought of losing them. Plus, I have a REALLY great drivers license picture right now. I'm never renewing the picture. Ever. Because what are the chances of getting a good drivers license picture? I digress.

My purse is FUCKING GONE! I jump out of the truck and restrain myself from running through the parking lot and frisking each person as they try to make their escape. I almost shoved some poor old lady down in my haste. I'M NOT KIDDING. Don't laugh, it isn't funny. I felt bad. Don't worry, I caught her before she hit the cement.

The happy ending.
I dashed to the corner where I stashed my basket after saving the old lady and what to my wandering eyes should appear. Of course, my purse. It was sitting there as if I never left it. I was reminded of the other time that I left my purse in the PARKING LOT of the super-behemoth-discount-store. Yea, I've done it twice now.

The moral of the story is this- People in small towns are super-duper nice and they don't steal purses from absent-minded domestic goddesses dumbasses.



Sunday, January 16, 2005

Coming Soon!



I'm jumping around like a jackrabbit on crack. Why you ask? Because I'm excited! Fickle Whimsy is getting all dressed up. *breaks into a little dance jig*

Kelly from Pure Serendipity is the goddess of graphics. I would rub her feet and feed her chocolates if I could.

Thank you so much Kelly, again.



Saturday, January 15, 2005

I loved it...

when you came home from school yesterday and presented me with a card for a free meal at Chick-fil-A. Because baby, free is good.

But, I'm more proud of why you earned that card. Keeping your desk orderly ALL YEAR LONG, is an awesome accomplishement. Especially in light of the fact that your Mom can't keep her desk clean for more than 15 minutes. Much less 9 weeks.

Thank God she takes after her Grandmother.

Friday, January 14, 2005

Yummy Meme Goodness!

Here's some yummy meme goodness brought to YOU by Fickle Whimsy...

Appetizer:
If you could have a free subscription to any online service, which would you like to have?

  • 2. Unlimited downloading of songs on Musicmatch.



Soup:
Describe your bathroom (furnishings, colors, etc.).
  • Three words. BIG ASS BATHTUB. Does anything else matter?


Salad:
What does the shape of a triangle make you think of?
  • Grilled cheese sandwiches. Because, you MUST cut grilled cheese sandwiches into triangles, in order for them to be edible.


Main Course:
Name 3 things or activities that you consider to be luxuries.
  • 1. Taking a long leisurly dip in the hottub. I will never take my hottub for granted. Never. Ever.
  • 2. Manicures/Pedicures.
  • 3. Going out to eat. As opposed to cooking and then hearing children whine about how they hate this, and are NOT going to eat that.


Dessert:
What was the last really great movie you watched?

  • 50 First Dates is still topping my favorites list at the moment.

Stay tuned for more yummy meme goodness after these commercial breaks.


I love...

how you only made a single, solitary subtle comment about the "excessive noise" last night.

Uhmm... Sorry about that. Blame Chris. I bet you never realized how much fun it would be crashing on my couch, did you?


Edited to add: Ok people. I've had 247 page loads thus far today and only my best friend has been compelled to comment. She HAS to comment or I put ants in her linens.

Out of Order.

Phew. I'm tired, a little sore, yet, in a really good mood. Last night, Krista and I made our weekly trek to the local watering hole. I'm not afraid to admit that I'm not the super mom that some SAHM's are. I can't live with my kids all day, EVERY DAY and still like them consistently. I need to get away from them in order to appreciate them. Plus, I do need to keep up my rigorous flirt schedule. I wouldn't want to get rusty.

Anyway. We ended up at a new place last night called "Fat Moe's". It was a very refreshing change from our regular biker-hangout/honky-tonk/good 'ole boy dive. This bar is situated underneath the historic Rogers Hotel and you have to walk downstairs to get there. (Which, when you really think about it, is a good thing. It's much safer to walk down the stairs sober and up the stairs drunk.) As we walked down the stairs to expose ourself to the room, we realized that this is going to be similar to the Boxcar. The room was positively teeming with men. Upon entering, I spied only a handful of women. Despite my outstounding record as a top quality flirt, I do get a bit nervous being surrounded by so many of the male persuasion. Especially, those of the DRUNK male persuasion.

The first stop was of course the Ladies room. (Women know that when you go to a new club/bar, the very first thing you do is figure out where the potty is. This is essential.) Upon our return, we ran into someone we knew and immediately ordered beers. After a few minutes of chatting, the pool table started to call my name and I couldn't stand it any longer. However with only 2 pool tables and one of them being broken, I was forced to steal the table away from the 4 drunken men who were drinking Tequila by the boatload. I promise you, these men were nice and polite when we first walked in, but by the end of the 2nd game they were TOAST. Each of them consumed 2 large shots during the course of the 2 games and by the time those 2 fateful shots were gone, they were reduced to slobbering piles of goo. It was just too easy. One of them even attempted to hump Krista's leg.

My pool skills were MAD last night. I was making bank shots, and rail shots, and cutting like no tomorrow. The tall guy with the buzz cut was flirting and sending me shy looks. Mr. Ostrich boots was trying to twirl me around the pool tables as someone else slaughtered Lonestar's Amazed. Between the unabashed attention from the 4 drunken amigos, I was feeling pretty damn special. (In that short bus kind of way.) Isn't it hilarious when you can hear people whispering about you? I knew that they were wondering if my single platinum band was a wedding ring, because drunk people don't whisper very quietly.


As we finished the 2nd game of pool, I excused myself to go the ladies room. Upon entering the bathroom, I stopped and looked at myself in the mirror in absolute horror for atleast 10 minutes. My fly was open. My fly was open for THE ENTIRE TIME WE HAD BEEN THERE. The 2 pool games, the 2 beers, the twirling with Mr. Ostrich boots and flirting with buzz head had ALL been accompanied by MY BLACK PANTIES being displayed for the world to see.


Do you know who didn't tell me that my fly was open for ATLEAST AN HOUR?

My friend.

However, she did take a sign off of my ass that read "out of order". Next time, maybe you could take the sign that someone attaches to my ass and place it over the wide open crotch area? Thanks.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

The beginning of the End... Or not?

Does sex come to a screeching halt when the proverbial knot is tied?

One website seems to think so. NoMarriage.com is under the impression, like so many others, that marriage is a death wish.

One writer states- “I can remember my last blow job like it was yesterday. Actually it was six years ago the day before I got married. Sex then was four to five times a week. Now I have a four-year-old son who sleeps in my bed with my wife more nights a week than I do. Sex now maybe once a month. Triple that for vacation sex. I have noticed that the rate goes up for a short period of time but drops off quickly when large purchases are made (house, Landrover, shopping sprees, new floors, etc). I am thirty-eight, not happy, and slowly methodically plotting my way out. I always love the look in the eyes of my friends who say that won't happen to them.”

It's attitudes like this that makes marriage so undesirable to so many people. I don’t know what this dude was doing wrong, but perhaps it wasn’t her fault. Maybe he didn’t like to reciprocate. Maybe he just laid there like a beached whale and forgot that she actually had something called a g-spot. I wonder if he can spell the word clit?

Another writer adds- “Wife is overweight, no sex, doesn't cook anything not in a can. 3 kids. I am stuck. I can't even cheat on her since we do a mail order company out of the house. No alone time, no peace. I think I am going crazy. Oh, another fun aspect - wife is a born again Christian, so if I bring up the sex issue she uses the bible to justify herself. I argue that, and kazzam, I am Satan, and no sex for Satan. If I do not argue, no sex for me either.”

I’m not even going to bother trying to dissect this one. He definitely has his own issues to deal with. But trust me, this is not the way it has to be. Have you guys ever seen the movie Phenomenon? There is a scene in that movie that totally exemplifies the point that I’m trying to make.

Doc: Banes....how's your lady love?
Banes: We...um...we broke up.
Doc: Really, that's too bad, yeah. Now George has a love at his side and she is sticking with him. You know why? Because he bought her chairs. That's pretty smart to me. You ever buy Lisa's chairs?'
Banes: Doc's real drunk tonight.
Doc: Every woman has her chairs, something she needs to put herself into, Banes. You ever figure out what Lisa's chairs were and buy them?

(I realize this may make absolutely no sense if you haven't seen the movie, but work with me... )

In every relationship there is going to be a situation where you will have to figure out what your lover’s “chair” is. Find out what it is that makes them tick. What turns them on? Investigate. Try new things. Work. Practice. Find out what that “thing” is that makes them want to come back for more and then hone it to a fine art.

C and I have always had a very healthy sex life. But, it was more of a quantity over quality type of thing. We we're fucking like rabbits, but not taking the time to learn the nuances and innuendos that lovers need to learn. See. That’s something wonderful about aging. As we grow older, we get smarter. Yea, we also get more forgetful; but that’s what post-its are for. I digress.

The timing was finally right. The moon was in perfect alignment with Venus. I’m not sure, but something has been floating our boat, so to speak. It’s amazing what good sex can do for your overall well-being and mood. I look at all of these crabby people on the roads and in the stores and I think to myself.

Self- "That puckered up old hag needs to get LAID."

So, in conclusion I’d like to remind all of you puckered up old hags, to just have a good romp in the hay from time to time. Fuck like rabbits. Squeal like a pig. You’re going to thank me.

And to all of you bored husbands and tired housewives - play a little. Turn out the lights. Kiss in the car at the red light. Make time to be lovers. Marriage doesn’t have to be the beginning of the end of your sex life.

Trust me.

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

Why, why, why...

Why is it that the silly dog has to be in MY lap all the time?

I don't carry bacon in my pocket. I don't even invite him into my lap. In fact, I discourage it! If I'm at the desk, he wants to be in my lap, right under my keyboard tray. If I'm on the couch, watching a movie, he wants to be wrapped around my feet, or under my ass (dumb dog), or behind my head, or wherever is most inconvenient for me. I told him just a few minutes ago, as he looks up at me with those soft brown puppy dog eyes - "NO, I do not want you in my lap! Can't you see that I'm busy here?" Right before he hops up into my comfort zone like he belongs there. Mhhmm... I was kidding. Right. I really do want you resting your adorable little head right on my arm, so that I'm completely incapable of reaching my mouse and keyboard. Yea.

Dog- Can't you see that I'm in a mood. It's possible that I could catapult your little 4 pound body through the air and HOPEFULLY you will land in a furry heap on the couch. Hopefully... Then I would have guilt and stress and I would feel obligated to feed you the yummiest bits of beef from my dinner plate and WAIT.. a damn minute. I already do that.

I think I'm being played by a 4lb. Miniature Chihuahua.


Domino
Posted by: ficklewhimsy.
The 4lb miniature chihuahua casanova.

Monday, January 10, 2005

Where you fall asleep standing up.



This was how I found my daughter at 12am on Saturday night. She was practically standing on the floor, but her shoulders and head was on the bed, sleeping soundly. I'm not sure if the cat just found her head comfy, or if she was protecting Ally from the alien parental units.

Thursday, January 06, 2005

These Women.

The women of this family were strong and independent. They loved with all of their heart and soul and suffered heartache because of it. They didn't ask for much. They didn't complain often. They worked together to make life better for the whole.

There were never many men around. Well, they came and they went but most didn't stay forever. They learned to live without them. These women were strong. Determined.

These women were single mothers and hard workers. They earned a decent wage and still took the time to make dinner every night. No amount of blisters or bruises could stop them from providing for their families. They excelled. These women knew what it took.

This one woman was lucky. She was married to a strong man who could work to help raise her family. They started off slow and built a good life and he got lazy. But, this mother didn't quit. She just worked harder. She always made sure that her kids were taken care of and loved. Even after he left. She was now like them. A single working mother who chose to do the right thing. She worked two jobs and spent more time on her feet than off of them. Her kids missed their mom, but she knew that one day they would understand. The sacrifice that she paid to give them a good life. And they did... and they do...

These women were strong, willful, determined and kind. They ARE always eager to help clean a house, babysit the kids, make a dinner, share a bed.

These women are my family.


This is a repost from last year when I was still writing on AndSheSaid.

Wednesday, January 05, 2005

credit card trauma

The problem.
I have credit card trauma. Seriously. I'm not sure that I'm ever going shopping again without cold hard cash.

The Explanation.
My husband gets referalls through his job that translate into cash for us. As an engineer with SBC he is encouraged to sell phone lines, accessories, blah blah blah. Well, these "rewards" are then transferred to something resembling a credit card. Really, it's more like a Target gift card, because they sure as hell don't tolerate overages.

The Fiasco.
I'm happily shopping (KID-FREE) in my local H-E-B yesterday for lunch stuff, coffee filters, fruit loops, puffy cheetos; you know the usual stuff. I'm enjoying my rare opportunity to actually read labels and walk slowly; I'm not chasing after my racing shopping cart or picking up a display of 430 cans of creamed corn spilled all over the aisle or even visiting the bakery more than three times for free samples of oatmeal cookies. I'm just minding my own damn business, buying some food. As I complete my grocery store trek with a large bag of Kibbles and Bits, I make my way to the checkout escalator thingy and lay out all of my junk healthy food. The sweet little red headed boy smiles at me and asks me how my morning is going as he swipes my oreos across the red flashy thingy. (I'm sure that this item will come out as the leading cause of pupil cancer in the next 10 years or so. ) As he continues scanning my food, I begin to sweat a little bit because I remember C's warning that there was only $98 left on our "reward" card. My hands get jittery and my palms get sweaty and my left eyebrow starts doing its little twitchy dance. I HATE being short of money. When he finishes and my total rings up to be $66.15, I breathe a deep sigh of relief. Because OH MY GOD, I don't want to have to put back the nine rolls of reduced price Christmas wrap and white chocolate covered Oreos. Smiling like a wicked child who has just found a stack of Playboys, I swipe my credit card and immediately stick it back in my purse for FUTURE USE. I have atleast $30.oo left to blow!

The rest happened in slow motion.

DECLINED!!!! the little lcd screen on the credit card machine reads.

"No, no, no" I frantically chant to sweet redheaded boy. "This can't be right. My husband TOLD me that we have $98.00 on this card. HE TOLD ME SO."

"Scan it again!" I practically yell at the poor kid.

DECLINED!!!! the little fucker of an lcd screen said again.

At this point, I just put my hands over my face and slump over a little. The poor little sweet redheaded boy is looking around frantically thinking that I'm going to have a nervous breakdown at any second. I almost did.

But, I pulled myself together. I stood up straight, grabbed my useless "reward" card off the counter and stated loudly that my husband was NEVER seeing me naked again.

The Solution.
  • Never shop again without cold hard cash.
  • Never look directly into the red flashing scanner thing.
  • Never trust "rewards".
  • Be very wary of any numbers resembling "666".
  • ($66.15 - coincidence? I think not.)
  • Never let my husband see me naked again. Or for atleast 72 hours.

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

I want my t-shirt.

5 minutes ago I deleted my first weird-ass comment. Does that make it official? Am I now part of some top-secret, super-cool club? Do I get my nifty blogger ID card now? I want my t-shirt.

Humble but happy.

Shhhhh. be very quiet.... do you hear that?

Me neither!

I love the first day back to school after a long holiday break. I lugged my lazy ass practically leapt out of bed at 6am this morning. Ironically enough, my 8-year old was already up, dressed and fed when I finally made it to the kitchen. Ally (mine) and Bethany (hers) had made plans last night to get up early this morning and get ready for school without having to rush. I, being the true procrastinator and sleep-lover that I am, scoffed at their lofty goal.

Umm, is this where I admit that I was wrong?


Pre-teen Divas - 1
Facetious Mom - 0

Saturday, January 01, 2005

Where I break my arm patting myself on the back.

I am standing on my head with excitement right now. Really, it's not that big of a deal; my good news. But, to ME; it's a cool accomplishement and a goal met.

I just received an email congratulating me on being a new contributing photographer at iStockphoto. Yea baby. I've really worked hard over the past 2 years to improve my photography skills. I upgraded from a 2 megapixel Sony Mavica, to a 6.3 megapixel Canon Digital Rebel. I took classes at Wolfe Camera on all of the basics of photography. I bought books and actually read them! I also took about a billion pictures, before I finally became confident enough in my photography to share it online. Sharing my work with people who look at tons of AWESOME pictures every day was fucking hard not the easiest thing that I've ever done. I'll grudgingly admit to being scared stiff of rejection. To be accepted... well, I guess it validates all of the work and thought that I've put into my photography over the last 2 years.

Yea, I'm going to have the cover of Time magazine any day now.

Well, a girl can dream.