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Last Updated: 12/8/2009

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Tuesday, December 08, 2009 

Current mood:  animated
Category: Blogging
I cannot even find the words for this.  

Wow.  Just wow.  


I haven't laughed this hard in a long, long time.  

Don't watch with kids around.  I can't embed this, so you'll have to cut and paste. 

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to call around about some hair extensions.  

XOXO 


12:42 AM 
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Thursday, December 03, 2009 

Current mood:  adored
Category: Blogging
Discuss:





9:14 PM 
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Friday, November 20, 2009 

Current mood:  animated
Category: Blogging
From NBC12:
 
“We have information just into our newsroom tonight that Richmond Sheriff C.T. Woody is being investigated for sexual battery.”

~_~_~_~_~~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_


We now have a reporter camped outside of Andy’s house, and here is her report:  
 
That’s right.  Sheriff Woody is being accused of sexual battery.  If I were a betting woman, I’d say that he will likely be represented by his attorney and longtime friend, Buzz Lightyear.  
 
The name of the accuser is not being released, but it is speculated to be either Bo Peep or Jessie, the yodeling cowgirl.  
 
It has been suggested that there may have been a gang-bang.  Rumor among the Green Army Men is that the initial romp was most definitely “consensual” but things got a little out of hand when Rex wanted a piece of the action and the mystery woman had to be “held down” as Rex’s arms are too short to hold on to anything he’s humping.

Rumor has it that Etch-a-Sketch was a witness to part of the debacle, however when he tried to show us what he saw, he was obviously too shaken up to do so.  
 
 
Also under suspicion in the alleged incident are Mr. Potato Head and Ham.  Sheriff Woody was seen leaving a shady motel room on Bullseye, his faithful horse.  Mr. Potato Head and Ham were seen later fleeing the scene on top of an RC Car.
 
Sheriff Woody is maintaining his innocence at this hour and is suggesting that the real culprit may be Stinky Pete.  Lightyear has suggested there may also be some involvement by the Evil Emporer Zurg.  
 
Sheriff Woody could not be reached, and the blocks in Andy’s window were arranged to spell out “NO COMMENT”.  
 
We’ll keep you updated as this story unfolds.  For now, it just seems inevitable that Sheriff Woody would eventually get in trouble from with his stick.   

8:37 PM 
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Thursday, November 19, 2009 

Current mood:  bitchy
Category: Blogging
I was on my way to work today and two people slowed down next to me on the highway and did the universal sign for "your tire is flat, you dumb bitch." 




I pulled over and, sure enough, it was kaput.  A quick call to my husband and a "get your ass here and change this tire for me" later, I was sitting in my van, waiting. 

What?  You don't think that *I* was actually going to stand out there and change my own tire, do you?  As if!

Anyway, I was sitting in my van waiting for him and I got to thinking about the division of labor and what is traditionally "women's work" vs "men's work". 

I decided that women really got screwed! 

First, we're not the ones who piss on the toilet seat, drip down the front of the bowl, miss and pee on the lid, blah blah blah.  Yet, cleaning toilets always seems to have been labeled as "women's work". 

Incidentally, after sex without condoms, we're also the ones having to deal with the man's jizz either all up in our hoohas or all over various body parts.  Unless of course we swallowed it.  But that's a whole different "job" in and of itself.  I'd like to see Mike Rowe tackle that one on an episode of "Dirty Jobs".

We also have to be the ones to push children out our vaginas (or have our stomachs ripped open) to create cheap labor for clothing manufacturers.  

Traditionally, men have the physically taxing jobs, (with the exception of child birth), such as mowing the lawn, throwing their socks in a pile on the floor next to the hamper and changing their underwear.  It's tough work.  I mean what if a sock actually gets INTO the hamper?  That can't happen, right?  

Of course, none of this is applicable in same-sex relationships, although I'm sure they have their own issues, just not with gender roles. 

My point?  I got married so that I wouldn't have to change my own damn flat tire.  Finally, a little over 9 years later, my investment has paid off.  That's all really.  Carry on. 
8:10 PM 
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Monday, November 09, 2009 

Current mood:  adored
Category: Blogging
The other night, I got up in the middle of the night to pee. 

On the way back to bed, I walked into something.  I don't know what it was, because nothing in the room seems to be the proper height for the injury I have. 

I remember hurting myself.  I seem to remember growling, "FUCK" at the 3 am stumble-fest as I leaned forward to rub my injured area.

I am now the proud owner of a goose egg and bruise.  On my pubic mound. 

Oh, happy day. 

XOXO
8:20 PM 
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Monday, November 02, 2009 

Current mood:  adventurous
Category: Blogging
Introspection is really a completely fucked up process.  You have to look inside of yourself and pass judgment upon your own actions and feelings.  Nothing like a little self-loathing to make your day complete.  This is why I avoid it.  Yes, I know it can be healthy.  Blah blah blah, but let’s face it.  Nothing about me is healthy so why should I start now? 

 There are several people who are telling me they want to try and do the MS Challenge Walk with me in September, 2010.  That both excites me and concerns me.   Mostly because I think about half of them have no clue what it truly entails.  On the other hand, I don’t want to discourage anyone either. Everyone has it in them to make it.  You just have to want it badly enough. If you’re thinking about it and have questions or want some details into what you really need to commit to, let me know. 


And now, I shall bore you with my introspective poetry. 


Haiku is a Japanese lyric verse form having three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables. 






Cock Haiku 

I like your large cock 
It is hard and very fat 
It’s like a soup can



 




 Hooker Haiku 

"Stick it in”, I said! 
“Move it around a little. 
Don’t forget my cash.”



 


I do much prefer limericks to haiku, though they are tougher to pen. A limerick is defined as a humorous, often risque, verse of five lines with the rhyme scheme a-a-b-b-a. 





Not to be confused with the group ABBA who brought you rhymes in a more socially acceptable format, such as: 

"If you change your mind 
I'm the first in line 
Honey I'm still free 
take a chance on me." 


I could go on, but I won't. Instead, I give you my Football Limerick!   


There once was a team from Wisconsin 
Whose quarterback had a big johnson 
 I can’t finish this limerick. The thought turns me on too much.  Let’s just say the next line had something to do with “punt”, and we all know what rhymes with that! 


Leave me your own little ditty if you’d like. It sure beats the shit out of introspection.
5:39 PM 
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Thursday, October 29, 2009 

Current mood:  awake
Category: Blogging
"A true friend gives freely, advises justly, assists readily, adventures boldly, takes all patiently, defends courageously, and continues a friend unchangeable."  --William Penn

To those of you who still come around these parts, even though my presence has been spotty, at best, I'm grateful for you.  Thank you.  I've often thought I'd drop this site completely, but then I would lose some of what makes me happy.  That is, having a little sounding board over here, where I can potentially reach more people.  Since my goal is world domination, this site becomes much more instrumental. 

But somewhere along the lines, I lost everything that made this place what it was for me.  Now I struggle with wondering if I want that back.  Sure, it's fun to interact, but make no mistake, it takes a lot of time and dedication. 

On the whole, I miss it.  I miss the days where comments took on a life of their own and each person interacted with not only me, but the others commenting.  It's how so many of us came to be as close as we are today. 

And then I go and do something like this and close off comments so that you can't interact, even if you wanted to. 

I know, I know, I'm such a bitch.  However, I will try to make you laugh all the same. 

  *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The Princess and the Giant Cock

She was applying her foundation when her little boy spoke up.  "What are you doing?" 

"I'm putting on my makeup, so that I look pretty."

He thought for a moment and then asked, "Why don't you put it on the inside of your nose?  That way, your boogers will see a beautiful girl," *dramatic pause*  "before they DIE!"

She laughed and giggled at the thought of boogers dying.  Is that what happens when you mash them in your tissue?  Are they really alive?  Are there organisms living in them that DO meet their death via tissue?

Doesn't matter, one must get to work.  She packed up her little bundle of joy and hauled him to day care, then trudged off to work. 

Upon her arrival at her office, she sat down at her desk.  A very uneasy feeling swept across her.  NO it did not "flood her pelvic region", thank you very much. 

It was unmistakable.  The zipper on her pants was down.  She reached to the side to pull it back up and found that the entire length of the zipper had popped open.  The little pully-dooma-flochy-thing-a-ma-jig had ripped off of one side and was a snarled, mangled mess. 

NOW WHAT?  She rummaged through her drawers - the ones to her desk, pigs -  and found the little metal doo-hickeys that generally hold ace bandages in place.  What the hell?  She attached them to the side of her pants to keep them in place while she decided what to do next. 

A little witch on a social networking site suggested binder clips.  She found some smallish ones and attached 5 of them to the side of her pants.  They did the job perfectly and almost looked like little black and silver buckles.  One may mistake it for a high-fashion belt if she positioned herself correctly. 

She sat back down and began working.  It was then that she heard the department chairman talking in the hallway.  He peeked in her office, mentioned something about getting a daily dose of optimism from her, chuckled in spite of himself and walked away. 

"Giant cock," she muttered under her breath, as he walked away and she continued on about her morning.  At some point, things were bound to get better. 

Little did she know that "some point" sometimes means "never".  And so, she changed her cell phone number, once again, back to the familiar 804 of long ago. 


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

4:32 PM 
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Wednesday, October 28, 2009 

Current mood:  contemplative
Category: Blogging
I'm going to do some writing.  I'm going to close comments.  I don't mind if you are reading.  Perhaps eventually you'll learn something, think of something, or feel less alone.  Maybe not.  Mostly, I just need to find the joy I used to have in writing again.  

Deal with it.  

XOXO





Once upon a time there was a little girl who knew exactly what she wanted.  

One day, she realized she'd have to adapt what she wanted to the reality that life gave her.  She had fallen into a very muddy hole, and was looking for a way out.  

Every time she'd gain some ground, her feet would slip out from underneath her.  She knew climbing out was not an option. 

She started screaming.  She is still screaming.  One day, perhaps she'll stop - but not today.  She's still trying to adapt to the muddy at the bottom hole.  
11:16 PM 
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Tuesday, October 27, 2009 

Current mood:  angsty
Category: Blogging
...as they stared at each other, that warm, familiar feeling flooded her pelvic region...

Who writes that?  Why not just say "her pussy was getting hot"?  

I'll tell you why not?  It's all of the politically correct bullshit.  

Did you know:  Josh's school will not have a Halloween party or anything mentioning Halloween?  Know why?  Pagan holiday. 

We got flyers in the mail for a PTA sponsored event at a local photographer to have your child photographed in their "FALL COSTUME".  Fall costume?  Really?  Should I dress my kid up like a fucking acorn?  Should he have colored leaves stuck all over him?  Because I don't think that would be appropriate since he's dressing as Hercules for HALLO-Fucking-WEEN.  

I'd like to go to the School Board President or the PTA president (or whoever chose the words for the flyer) and ram one of the accessories from my "fall costume" up her "flooded pelvic region."  How do you think she'd like that?  

It seems like this totally PC world is taking all of the fun out of being a kid.  Next thing you know, we won't be able to celebrate Christmas...what?  Oh, you mean "The Winter Holiday."  Got it.  If that's the case then I don't want to hear about any other Christian/Jewish/Greek/Pagan holidays what so ever. And certainly no African American ones.  And nothing that disparages Native Americans.  That means that for Thanksgiving, we should have "Pre-Winter Holiday Festival".  

I'm experiencing a slightly agitated mood.  Read: I'm feeling a little bitchy.  


Fuck PC.  iMacs are better anyway.  I don't give a shit who I offend.  

4:48 PM 
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Sunday, October 25, 2009 

Current mood:  amused
Category: Blogging
…and then, he said, "it's old and cold and full of mold."  Boy did we laugh at that one for a couple of hours.  

I was thinking about the time when you and I went to the adult toy store over in the West End.  Remember when I picked up that butt plug and said to you…

Hey!  Who are you?  Why are you eavesdropping on my private stories?  

I do have something to tell YOU.  Not the toy store story though.  I promised to keep that between me and the person who was there with me, who shall forever remain nameless.  

I was listening to my iPod last night and "I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz came on.  I was laying in bed listening and singing the words in my head.  This was a different version than I'm used to hearing, so I was totally surprised when he sang about listening to "the music of the moment, people sing with me".  You see, I used to think he was singing "listen to the music of the Mormon people, sing with me".  I always thought that was odd, but thought perhaps he was listening to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.  

Really, in my head it made perfect sense.  

The whole point of this story?  "I'm Yours" is NOT a really good song to masturbate to.  There's no frenzy, there's no energy.  Sure, it's a fun song, but the beat doesn't do much for you when you're rubbing one out.  

Please suggest a songs to go on my "Masturbation Playlist".  I need something new!  

XOXO
12:04 PM 
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Thursday, October 15, 2009 

Current mood:  accomplished
Category: Blogging

I know this isn’t in effect yet, however, let me state, for the record that:


No company has ever sent me a free vibrator for anything I’ve ever said about their products.  The only freebies I’ve received from any company regarding my love of vibrators and dildos has been FREE LUBE WITH PURCHASE or the FREE Vibrating Egg when you pay shipping.  Well that and multiple orgasms.  Those I didn’t have to pay for. 


My association with California Exotics is solely that I paid them $70 or so and they supplied me with the once top-of-the-line Jack Rabbit that has given me hundreds, possibly thousands of orgasms and many more to come, unless I burn out the motor.  What?  Let’s face it – that is a very real possibility as my need for orgasms will not be put on hold until Mr. Man has the time.  If I need it at 3 am, I don’t have time to wake him up, get him up and get a little.  I mean shit, I have to get up at 5:30 AM.  I want to roll over, grab it, do it and go right back to sleep.


There are other things I’ve written about that I’ve never received anything for.  Here, a small smattering:


Hostess never sent me shit when I talked about how their delicious snacks may have saved my life, or at the very least cushioned my fall. 


The Betty people never offered me free pube dye or a stencil kit or anything when I talked about them. 


The people from Whatever-Thousand Dollar Pyramid never thanked me for reminding people that they existed. 


The Transformers people never thanked me for my wonderful fan-fic piece I did, even if it was porn.


When I bitched about having a not-so-happy period, Always never sent me shit.  Neither did Playtex Sport when I demonized their little happy sayings on the tampon wrapper (you GO girl!). 


I’m certain that Tampax will not send me free plugs either, especially when I complain that the last few boxes of my favorite Tampax Pearls do not fit quite like they used to. I have a feeling that those babies may have been changed recently to make manufacturing costs a little cheaper.  However, this is NOT a good thing and I’m not the only person who has noticed that suddenly these are not the “go to” pon of choice any longer due to comfort issues. 


I would LOVE for the Instead Cup people to send me tons of free ones, but they have not.  Perhaps it would please them to know that I suggested to Kat that she give those a shot?  I’m going back to them post-haste, even if I haven’t gotten the hang of yanking a full one out without pulling back a bloody hand. 


I’m sitting here drinking my Diet Coke and am pissed off that my place of employment, has contracted with Pepsi to carry only their products.  Even the McDonalds here cannot serve the traditional Coke products, nor can there be any mention of Coke products, nor can they give away the Coke glasses when every other McD’s has that offer.  This does not stop the wonderful street vendors, such as Christopher’s Runaway Gourmet from selling Diet Coke,.  HOORAY!  As such, I will go out on the street and continue to purchase my Diet Coke (and receive my FREE smile from the folks working the stand).  You hear that FTC?  THE SMILE IS FREE, DAMN YOU! 


And to top it all off, my employer, has NOT paid for me to write this wonderful little blog, as I’ve done it solely on my UNPAID lunch break.  However, they DO make it possible for me to be gainfully employed and pay some bills here and there.  But I’m not required to disclose that to you. 

 

In the end, all of my shit is bought and paid for, with the exception of that one thing that one time but that was more of a gift, because I’m super cool and groovy.  Oh, and that other thing.  And that stuff.  And those samples.  And that cheese. And, and, and…


4:48 PM 
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Wednesday, October 14, 2009 

Current mood:  awake
Category: Blogging
With the boy in kindergarten, the world has really opened up for him.  Gone are the days when I could look at my husband and say, "What the F-U-C-K?"  (spelled out of course, at super fast speed so that little ears don't figure it out.)

Part of kids learning to read is recognizing the sounds certain letter groups make, finding rhyming words and then substituting different letters fro the first.  Once you know the sounds each letter of the alphabet makes, you can turn the simple word "UP" into cup or pup.  You can turn "ED" into bed, fed, led, Ned, ped, red, Ted or wed. 


So it should come as no surprise when my boy says to me, "Mom, what does A-T spell?" in order to read the words "bat, cat, hat, sat and pat" with little to no help. 

The other night, we were sitting on the couch.  I was minding my own business.  Jerry was watching some really boring talk show about football.  Josh pokes my calf and says, "Mom, what does A-S-S spell?"

Shocked that he would ask me, I looked up at the TV and saw "FIELD PASS".  So I say, "P-A-S-S spells pass". 

"I didn't ask that.  So what does A-S-S- spell?"

"Josh, it says P-A-S-S on the screen."

"Mom!  Tell me what does A-S-S spell?"

Jerry starts laughing. 

I toyed with the idea of saying, "A-S-S spells Dad." 

I finally said, "It spells something we don't say because it's not nice."

"But what does is SPELL?"  He asked me, speaking very s-l-o-w-l-y as if I were from a foreign country.  He even said the word 'spell' a little louder than the rest of the sentence to help make me understand.  

I tried ignoring.  I tried tickling him.  I tried distraction.  But the boy would not give up.  Finally he looks at me and says, "Does A-S-S spell ass?"

"Yes, Josh, it does."

"So now I can read it!  PASS!  It says PASS!" 

Incidentally, he can also read bass, lass, mass and sass.  Perhaps I should teach him "crass". 

XO
12:16 PM 
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Friday, October 02, 2009 

Current mood:  accomplished
Category: Blogging

I would like to drop kick the inventor of the horse-shoe shaped toilet seat. 


Hear me out here, and then I fully expect you to chime in with your two cents worth (which really is only worth a fraction of that, but only because of the economy these days.)


You have two basic types of toilet seats. 



Type A

The fully enclosed seat that covers the entire bowl



Type B

The horseshoe shaped piece of shit that leaves the front rim of the bowl wide open. 







Whose idea was this?  Really.  If I walk into a bathroom and it has a horseshoe shaped seat, I’m really not all that eager to sit down and take a leak.  I think about whether or not I can hold it a little longer.


Here’s the problem.  Walk into a house full of typical men.  Lift up the toilet seat.  Look at the rim of the toilet.  Would you want to touch that?  Would you want to put your girlie bits anywhere near that?  Or, if you’re a guy, would you want your junk dangling near it when you sit to take a crap?  Seriously?

 

The rim of a toilet bowl freaks me out, especially one THAT close to the front.  That’s the section that will catch the most droplets of pee when you boys are shaking, tapping, or strumming your instrument, or whatever it is you do in there.

 

So why oh WHY would I want to sit down on a seat where that rim is exposed?

 

It’s not just the thought of my cooter being that close to something so disgusting and vile.  Let’s face it, your junk will never REALLY touch that unlucky area.  But you know what?  When you take a pee, you’ve got to wipe.   This involves either shifting your weight to lean forward, putting your arm behind you and under your butt to wipe or attacking the soggy vag from the front.  If you go in from the front, you run the risk of dragging that toilet paper (or the back of your hand) right across the ring of nastiness.  And yet, you’re still going to wipe your vajayjay with it, aren’t you? 


Most of you do this without a thought, don’t you?  Bet you’ll think twice now. 

 

In the interest of fairness, it’s a problem with women too.  If a woman is a hoverer in a public restroom, she may drip a bit in that same area and neglect to wipe of the seat.  Which causes me to recoil in horror when I walk into that stall, and walk right back out without doing my business. 

 

I generally DO hover in a public rest room, but I’m a very neat pee-er, I assure you.  You’ll recall I generally carry my own flushable wipes.  Just ask Scilly about that.  She can vouch for me as she’s used them.  But I digress. 


While the type A toilet seat harbors just as many germs, I don’t have to THINK about them as much.  It’s just a more well thought out design.  It covers the nasty, and gives you a happy “out of sight out of mind” feeling when you go in to relieve yourself after a long day.    Unless someone sprinkled when they tinkled.  Then you just have to hope that they were sweet and wiped the seat.  With a Lysol Wipe.  Or some bleach. 


That’s what I’d like to see in public bathrooms  - disposable rubber gloves, Lysol wipes and people being responsible for their own urine.  But that’s another blog entirely. 


Your turn – horseshoe shaped or fully enclosed seats? 

 
5:58 PM 
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Tuesday, September 29, 2009 

Current mood:  adored
Category: Friends
Because it wasn't all serious....

Turn it up for the music.






XOXO


5:46 PM 
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Sunday, September 27, 2009 

Current mood:  adored
I could go on to describe the third day to you, but it's much the same as the first two with a little twist. 

Day 3 would take everything we had left and then some. 

We set out to finish what we started.  We were tired.  We were hurting.  But we were determined. 

The first 3 miles were those "work out the kinks" miles.  There was much laughter and no one started out in a big hurry.  Today was the day we could put it in low. 

Our girls were the mile 6 rest stop, and when we got there, everyone needed to sit and take care of their blisters, rewrap ankles, knees, feet, etc.  But I couldn't stop. 

I was feeling pretty sure if I stayed there too long, I'd never make it to the end.  It was getting warmer and there were still 4 miles left, including a short but steep hill. 

I set off from there on my own, hugs and kisses for the girls and a "see you on the other side". 

I walked the last 3 7/10ths of a mile alone.  I found time to reflect on all we'd accomplished.  I noticed the houses and the streets, the trees and the sky.  As I wound through the little tourist town, I thought of how grateful I was to have these strong-willed ladies walk with me.   I'd listened to people say, "I'm walking for my sister/mom/brother/husband/wife".  I thought, "what a beautiful sentiment" and then it hit me. 

These women, all with me from all across the country, were my friends.  There was no familial obligation. They weren't there because they had to be.  They were there because they wanted to be.  Let me tell you something.  Until you have a group of women give up their time to take part in something like this with you, FOR you, you can't imagine how it feels.  I didn't know.  I do now.  I mean I knew it was pretty special, but it wasn't until these last few miles that I realized how incredible it was that they were here at all.  Because they not only walked 50 miles or volunteered, they paid to be there.  They paid to be with me.  I guess I am kind of a big deal after all.  :)

Patty got to the end first.  I was second.  Our girls from the rest stop were waiting there.  My knee was killing me. Every step hurt and all I could think of were two things: 

1)  Give me some ice for my knee

and

2) Don't block my view so I can see when my girls finish. 

There was a luncheon and a program.  I don't know what went on during that.  I missed it.  And I didn't care because I was waiting for my girls.  My finish meant nothing without them. 

Tina and Janet came next - they sprinted across the finish line.  It was really quite funny. 
Dee was hot on their heels.    Adriane and Scilly came shortly after, and finally my whole team was there, with me, at the finish line. 

At some point, I was approached by one of the organizers who asked if LaDorkas would carry the "WALKERS" sign across the finish line.  This meant a couple of things.  Let me explain. 

The last 3/10ths of a mile is walked as a group.  The first group that goes are the Walkers with MS.  Then, the walkers, then the volunteers.  If we followed protocol, we could not have finished together as a team.  But because we were asked to carry the sign, we ALL got to walk together.  Her simply asking me to do this made me cry. 

Our team was awarded the "Team with the Most Spirit" award, which I think was their nice way of saying "The Loudest Team". 

When the final march started, we walked that 3/10ths of a mile smiling the whole way.  We were awarded medals as we crossed onto the Washington Island Ferry and under the FINISH line. 

We posed for some pictures, had a little celebration and got some lunch.  After that, the good byes started and didn't end until the following morning.   

September 20, 2009.    The day I completed my 50 mile journey toward a cure. 

I've already signed up for next year. 

www.ladorkas.com

There was some wild fun that Sunday night at the hotel, but we weren't whole, as Patty had gone home and Tina and Spooner were on their way home. 

Thank you will never be enough for these ladies.  I have nothing but love & respect for them.  I hope that each of you out there has at least one friend like this.  I'm the luckiest girl around  because I have 9. 

XOXO
5:04 PM 
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