Monday, November 23, 2015

This is the story of a girl...

Okay! I "walked away" for a minute. Lots of reasons to back that, and I'm not saying that I'm back. Nope.. can't promise shit! All I can say is that I need to fucking bleed on my keyboard right now. I just "came out of retirement" on my book review blog and its left me itchy. Here's a story about a girl... 

Once upon a time, there was a bored wife/mother/nursing student. She LOVED to read. She always did it the traditional way. You know, go to a physical book store, look for 9 hours, buy the shit on display, read in 4 hours and then tweek for more. THEN one day, said girls (ex) husband gifted her with a kindle. Enter the previously enexplored world of amazon and amazon books.. watch said girl find her first "Indie-Author" (self published) .. that girl fell the fuck in love. The shit that "she" (I'm not saying that it's me.. but I'm not saying its not, either) read was like way fucking better than the shit she was paying a fucking fortune to read because it was popular. In fact, it was not only better, it was cheaper, available with one click from her couch and could go ANYWHERE with her!!! This is the day that a monster was born. This girl fell so hard in love that she needed to share her new discovery with the rest of the world. She spend many many hours online preaching and finally found others of her kind. And when she wanted to give back to said authors who had given her SO MUCH, she put a few words to keyboard by way of an amazon review.Then.. shit happened. Crazy shit! People actually liked what she had to say, and many took her word for gold in their buying process. This lead to a few then self-published authors gettting more and more traffic. She was FAMOUS! And she was high on it all. She sought out her own forum to collect her thoughts and "reviews" on books. A way to give back to the authors who gave her their hearts for like 99 freaking cents! She even named a stray cat after the male lead in the first ever indie author read. 

So more and more people started to take notice and she started to see some of these authors become published, and rejoiced as she started seeing her name in the acknowledgements section while their books were available for sale at fucking Walmart! Girl was giddy. This was cool as all shit! 

Then, this girl realized that she had more to say, and remembered that she likes to say words like fuck. shit. goddamn. ass... so on and so forth. So, one day while waiting to take nursing boards this girl created another forum where she could let shit fucking fly! Nobody knew about it but she got all this mail about how awesome she was and well, it felt pretty fucking great!!... 

But one dark day, an awful awful thing happened. The girl took her state nursing boards and suddenly had a job where she had to save lives and shit. Reading and typing became a bit of a chore. SO FUCKING MANY authors were sending her book after book, just begging for a review. (Apparently she had made a name for herself) and eventually the thing she did for fun started to feel like a bit of a chore. Fucking voulchers....So the girl tried, she really did! But insert a divorce and a bunch of other awful shit, and these things that the girl loved to do so much became just too much and she had to let it go. She "retired". It was a sad day. She ignored all the emails and messages she recieved, asking for more. Goddamn fucking vulchers! And when she did try to pick it back up, she found that she had to sensor herself because people she KNEW were reading! And whats the fun in talking shit to random strangers if you have to cut out all the good stuff to avoid boxing with some bitch you have to be nice to??

So the girl went all dead to the world of blog. She let it die. It fucking sucked. Then, as a favor to her favorite author.. she spent entirely too fucking long trying to remember her log-in to her review site. She sucked serious donky dick typing out what she thought about the latest and greates book. And she had to NOT curse. Because ya know, Amazon is an asshole. They'll publish a book about some bitch getting her asshole licked but wont let you use the word 'damn' when you review it.  ... Off topic. 'Her' bad...  So she suddenly remembered how fucking much she loved bleeding all over the keyboard. Especially the part where she could say FUCK a lot! So... she spent another 5 goddamn minutes trying to log into her Rated R blog.. just so she could rant and bitch a bit with no fucking moral to any story for the random people of the world to maybe read. 

Also, if this "girl" had kids, they'd still really fucking suck. Ya know, in that way that you want to shake a kid and hug it at the same time. She might also be back to that place where boys are the devil. And maybe, probably, a whole bunch of other shit. I dont know... just asking for a friend. 

**She might also like you to know that spell check is being a dick, and its not her fucking fault that her nails are so goddamn long, or that shes out of practice because she works in the only hospital in america who still utilizes paper charting. SHE. Not ME. Just saying.***

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Catch Me If You Can!

Ya ya ya... I know. I fucking KNOW alright?? I KNOW that I keep taking off for extended periods of time and then when I do finally come back, it's always with promise to do better.. N Shit. I know, guys. I suck. I'm sorry. Let the flogging begin.

I really have been meaning to catch up for Oh! So very long now and I always get hung up. Either I'm inspired and dont have the time, or I have time but my brain is all drippy n shit, or I decided to just get laid instead. Don't hate here. If given the chance to get taken to D-Town, y'all would choose to work on your vitamin D deficiency, too! See what I did there? Vitamin D = Penis!! Yes, I'm still brilliant.

It's been pretty much same old same old on this end of the screen as of late. Still rocking #momoftheyear. For instance, I told the 13 year old not once, but TWICE to stop being such a dick today. I'm still poking people with sharp objects for a living. Luckily for me, I took a new position in a new hospital a little over a year ago and as such, my finger to anus ratio has gone like WAY down. It's been a nice reprieve. I still have a best friend who makes your best friend look like discarded tampons. (The used ones. Eeeewww) And I'm still dating. That part has actually taken a turn for the better as of the last 8 months or so. He is awesome. He is my person. He has a huge cock. Life is good.

Other than all that boring hooplah I'm still having series of random randomery while fighting "The Man" and world hunger N Shit. My temper has calmed down a bit. Blame Sir Cocks A Lot for that one. Only I can manage to find someone just as fucked up as me who will CLEARLY just take all my bad habits and make them worse... but then somehow the fucker manages to accidentally calm my shit the fuck down. I feel so cheated.

I do still occasionally act out a bit. I WANT to tell yall a really really good one about the time I went to see Fifty Shades Of Grey for Valentines Day, got tanked in the theater, made an ass out of myself and spent 3 days apologizing...but it's just  been brought to my attention that well, this shit isnt anonymous anymore. Fuck! When did people I KNOW start reading this?? Bullshit, I tell you! Anywho... I think I might have to switch this up a bit. Maybe start fresh with a new domain?? Transfer all the really good shit over somewhere else and then REALLY let loose in a manor that I havent been able to do thus far..for fear of being fired or all my friends and family telling me to go fuck myself. Yes, yes kiddies... it actually gets a lot LOT worse. You've been reading the censored version. Don't you feel all shitty inside now? Ya... 

So that's my new plan. Sorry, peeps.. I'm moving on.. thanks for the love, the shit talk, the audience  ... Catch me if you can!!

Sunday, January 12, 2014

I'll trade you.. One adult size straight-jacket for 3 kid size...

Kids, man. Why do we have kids? Don't give me any of that birds and the bees, when a man loves a woman bullshit. I know HOW we have kids. I said WHY? I know.. I know.. seemed like a good idea at the time, right? Some tiny little carbon copy of ourselves and our partner that we get to love, nurture, educate, rear up to become productive little members of society. To give our bodies a purpose. To give our hearts a home. 

And we get all that shit. What else do we get? Fucking headaches. And sore throats from screaming. And sleep. No. Not sleep. Who the fuck gets sleep with a bunch of tiny little asshole alarm clocks with legs running around all over the place? People who can afford nannies, that's who. Well, I cant afford a nanny. Not that I'd want one. So I, am fucking tired. I do legit enjoy being a mother. Its my greatest accomplishment of course. And I wouldn't trade it, or them to the gypsies for anything in the world. Most days, anyway. 

I swear, they mean well. They're good kids. But, they're KIDS. I know that what they mean to say is shit like:

 "I love you. Thank you for giving me life. Thank you for allowing me to first destroy whatever you had left of a 'body' before I rip and literally tore myself from it, forever leaving it unrecognizable to you. Thanks for sacrificing your vag for me. Thank you for providing me with *mostly* nutritious meal intake. (I give them chicken nuggets and other processed, cancer forming convenience foods sometimes. So do you. Don't fucking act like you don't. I haven't killed any of them, yet. They're all still alive. That's got to count for like, something.) Thank you for clothing me and sheltering me and kissing my boo-boos and beating my ass when I need it. (Yes, they NEED it sometimes) Thank you for forgiving my farts. And faults. Thank you for literally catching puke with your bare hands. Thank you for not getting pissed when you wake up pissy.. because SOMEBODY crawled into bed beside you at night and then flooded you the fuck out. Thank you for sticking your fingers down my throat when I dont take your advice about chewing properly seriously. Again, thank you for keeping me alive. Thank you for not publicly shaming me when I crap my pants at the playground and there's no public toilet so you have to wet McDonalds napkins that you found in your car down at the drinking fountain to clean my ass before taking me home... naked.. in a car seat."

Ya know... shit like that. I know that's what they MEAN to say.

But... sometimes, it comes off more like:

"I hate you. I want you to die a slow, miserable death. I liked it wherever I was before you put me on the hell-hole of a planet and forced me to do all this shit that I dont want to do just because I'm smaller than you. Because of this unforgivable sin of giving me 'life' I shall first destroy your body, then your mind, and finally your spirit.. leaving not only your vag but also your reflection completely unrecognizable to your, and all other eyes. No, I don't NEED new Jordans. No, I dont NEED $40 plain tank-tops from Justice. But I WANT them. And because I know how much you hate busting your ass at a shitty job to 'provide' for me... I'm going to sit back and smile while demanding that you throw it all away on useless shit that is going to fall apart in 3 weeks."

And we know that's what we're signing up for. Yet we do it willingly, and often multiple times. And of course, it's all worth it at the end of the day when we tuck their stinky asses into bed and feel those tiny arms around our necks, and those sloppy wet lips on our faces. 

Yes, parenthood is the true definition of insanity. Who's got my straight-jacket???

Saturday, April 20, 2013

They're All Going To Laugh At You.

So, I know I said I was back, and I meant it. I had to take a short hiatus because of a very traumatic death in the family. I know, you're sorry for my loss and I appreciate it. I really do. 

Anyway... just prior to that... THIS happened...

For Easter this year, I decided that instead of buying a shit ton of candy that will sit around, after I had pilfered all the good shit out of it.. where I ration it out to my kids like one piece a day until finally they forget about it and I throw it out at the next candy-worthy holiday... that I would instead throw my 'Jesus' money into something that will last. Something that the whole family can enjoy. You know, like together and shit. My brilliant plan actually began back in January, I just didn't know it yet. Let's back track...

Mommy's little princess turned 8 in January. When we asked how she wanted to celebrate, she brought any parents worse nightmare into fruition with the words "sleep over". Seriously, when I heard those words, I screamed. Out loud. Like some asshole in a ghost mask was chasing me, and I was too fucking dumb to run out the door and instead ran up the goddamn stairs. It was THAT terrifying to me! 

But still, it's what she wanted, so it's what she got. Being that I'm not super close with a lot of the parents in the school district yet, I honestly didn't expect too many parents being okay with leaving their kid alone with a complete stranger overnight in a house they've never set foot in. Boy, was I wrong! Apparetnly, in 2013 "sleep over" = free babysitter for the night! Seriously. I limited the number of kids Ally could invite and gave the option for parents to pick their kids up at 10p if they weren't comfortable letting them stay all night. I seriously figured that MAYBE 4-6 little screaming girls would be in my care all night, out of the 10 I let my daughter invite. WRONG! I seriously dont understand how, but of the 10 we invited, fucking 12 stayed all night. TWELVE! I know, the math doesn't add up. I can't fucking figure it out either. All I know is that I'm still traumatized. 

Including my daughter, I had 13 7-9 year old screaming little girls who wouldn't shut the fuck up or go to sleep PLUS a 3 year old. I'm going to spare you the details of how these little girls destroyed everything in sight, including my eardrums, or how their parents practically shit on the door step and then ran the fuck off for their free night off. I'll instead tell you about dropping it like it's hot and getting my ass handed to me. 

So... know that dance game for PS3 and XBOX Kinect? Just Dance? it's actually pretty sweet and we turned it on thinking the girls would love it. This party was thrown in my ex's finished basement, and I've honestly never played it before. Being a fan of dance in general - I threw the fuck down! There was a line forming very quickly of little girls who wanted to "battle Allys Mom" .. Ya, I'm a bad ass. 2 problems with this scenario... 1) I'm fucking old and out of shape. I never let them see, but I was seriously dry-heaving in between One Direction and that Call Me Maybe song. 2) These little girls got moves like Jagger! And by moves, I mean a couple of them could make Showgirls blush. Ever seen an 8yr old girl bend over, wiggle and then smack her own ass? Neither had I. I should have filmed it. It could have been their audition tape for Sixteen and Pregnant. 

Anyway... So I legit enjoyed playing this game. And, based on my limping for a few weeks post slumber party.. I figured that getting a Kinect for our XBox and that game, plus a few for the boys was a win/win. I thought we could have fun together as a family, and I could maybe raise my ass back to where it was a few years ago. 

It started off well. Easter bunny delivered the new gagget and by the next night we had it hooked up and ready to go. It went relatively well, despite it not recognizing my 3yr old as a player and the "Oh my fucking god, if you guys dont figure this shit out I'm throwing the goddamn thing in the trash" drama... everybody was having fun. Kind of. 

The Just Dance game really is a lot of fun for an ex-dancer like myself. It's kind of a challenge, and is legit a work-out for a woman who burns the most calories a day when cussing out the McDonalds employee who fucked her order up. I enjoyed playing with the kids so much that one day, after work I decided to turn it on and continue my plot to get my ass back by myself. 

Picture this: 

All the furniture pushed to the side. Me, waving frantically at the Kinect, trying desperately to get it to recognize me as a player. Me, waving frantically in like 3 fucking sports bras (The girls need strapped the fuck down for what's about to happen) while rocking a pair of cut-off yoga pants and barefoot in my living room. Finally, I get all those fucking ducks in a row and warm up with some Call Me Maybe. *I love that song. I have no shame* After 2 songs, I need my inhaler and decide that I should do just ONE more, but really need to go balls out this time. So, I throw on Rhianna's 'Umbrella' This, is not good for me. This song requires far more pelvic thrusting than I'm recently accustomed to. Yes, that's me admitting that I"m not having NEARLY enough sex these days. Anyway.. I finish the applause worthy performance, take my bow and after dry-heaving for a moment, decide to call it a day and turn the XBOX off in lue of some good couch sitting with a bag of Funyuns.      Don't fucking judge me!!

I bend over to turn the XBOX off with the touch of my finger. (I love that touch sensitive shit. It makes me feel like I'm performing magic. Sometimes, I turn it off and on multiple times while pretending to recite a latin incantation. I'm fucking Harry Potter and you can't tell me otherwise)  

As I stand from the turning off, I ram my ass directly into the corner of a wall. Like the sharp as fuck, how the fuck did that get there? Corner. It fucking hurt. A little back story- without getting into it, my tailbone has suffered much trauma in it's day. It's been broken multiple times, and in one spot the skin is like paper thin. Of fucking course, that's EXACTLY where I decided to 'back dat ass up' into the fucking wall. 

It hurt like hell. Like I bent over and held my breath for a minute. Eventually, I was able to blow it out and stood. I had assumed that I had just bruised my fucking ass and would be sitting more carefully for a day or two. I was wrong!

A few steps later and I felt something dripping down my leg. Knowing that I wasn't due for Eve to make her monthly visit, I became alarmed and hobbled my broken ass into the bathroom to inspect the damage. Sure as shit, I was bleeding. From my ass. FROM MY FUCKING ASS

Okay, so not ass in the literal sense. My chocolate star-fish was intact and just fine. My tailbone, however was not. Do you KNOW how hard it is to inspect your own ass for damage assessment purposes? I now do. I grab a clean, cold towel and get the bleeding stopped for a bit. The problem? I don't own a full-length mirror. This, meant that with a cold, wet bloodied towel in one hand... I was trying to boost my NAKED ass up on top of my bathroom counter with the other. Literally. I some how managed to get up there but still couldn't really see well enough to know how bad the cut was. Also, it fucking hurt like a bitch and there was a lot of blood. I had some goddamn nerve pain shooting down my leg. I'm convinced that I'm either going to bleed to death with my naked ass in my sink, or be paralyzed from the waste down and be denied disability because "I shouldn't have provoked the fucking wall".

Honestly, I really couldn't tell how bad the cut was and even as a nurse myself I needed some help. Knowing that my boyfriend was to be on his way to see me soon, I sent the following message:

"So, um... I know you're on your way but I kind of need you to hurry. I um.. kind of.. um... broke my ass. Seriously. I can't tell if it's just a bad scratch or if I need stitches. I need you to look at my ass. Please. And! I swear to fucking christ if you laugh at me, I'll never fuck you again. Like ever. That's going to get pretty sad. I wouldn't laugh if I was you. Please, hurry."

He did his best to contain himself although I KNOW laughter was had at my expense. Lucky for his man-parts it was not in my presence. When he finally arrived at my place, I was sitting on ice. Literally. 

Long story short, after surveying the situation, it was decided that I in fact, did not need stitches. Thank Fucking GOD! I had told him that I had already made up my mind that even if I did.. no way in hell was I going to ER for this shit. No fucking way would they ever believe me on how this had happened and I was not trying to be the laughing stock of the emergency room as the girl with the bleeding ass. 

Fast forward to several days later... My ass is healing (and itching like a mother fucker) and the bandage that the world's best boyfriend had placed is ready to be changed. Discussing this need with him, we got to talking. He states...

"You know, when you first told me about it, I thought you meant your actual butthole was bleeding. I came there prepared for anything."

Me: "awe, no.. I honestly don't know if I would have asked you to look at my bleeding asshole, unless it was at your hand. And for that I'd have to have been incredibly drunk and how dare you take advantage of me like that!"

Him: "Hey, I'd have to be really drunk too, but that doesn't negate the fact that I came prepared to look at your chocolate starfish."

Me: "Awe, you really do love me, don't you?"

Thursday, March 28, 2013

What A Soft Bunny You Have.

I feel the urge to blog, but am at a loss for a solid topic.  Because I'm impulsive when left alone to my own devices and the voices ... I've decided to just fucking do it anyway... with no direction and see what happens. 

Anything of real interest, or gossip worthy can't be typed as once again, people who I actually know in real life read this shit sometimes.  Cant have them knowing shit I dont want them to know.... like how much shit I talk about them when they're not around. So all the good stuff must be saved for text with the bff, aka Liv as pre-disclosed in the previous post. 

Oh! That reminds me. Speaking of Liv - ever heard how some men name their junk? It's usually something laughable and dumb like Tiger ... let's be honest here guys: it's really not as great as you think it is.  In my experience, or the word-of-mouth experience of women I know - any man and I mean ANY man who brags about his junk is a fucking liar. You wanna talk about how big it is?  You probably can't get it up.  And what good is a giant mansicle if it's always all melted?  
If you say shit like how you've never had any complaints- that just means to your face.  I'm willing to bet that you also haven't had many repeat customers, either.  

The only way, ONLY way to know if your junk is up to par boys is if she doesn't walk away pissed and comes back again and again. Even that isn't fool proof. Some chicks are just dumb.  Ya, I said it. 

If your shit is actually great, and you're actually great with it - you won't need to brag about it.  So cut that shit out will ya???

I got off topic, but then again I never really laid out an exact topic so get off my back about it. Shit. As I was saying - know how some men name their junk? Well me and my girls started a trend to do the same. It all started as a joke. Somebody said I should call my ho-ha Suzy. That way, if I'm ever actually getting any, it could be like a secret code. The example was given to me: Out in a public place with the imaginary man I'm seeing. The urge hits. He lays down code by saying to me, in plain view of anybody: "Suzy just texted me. Says she wants to meet up in a few minutes" 

I thought this was hilarious as shit.  I told Jamie (midget dance off) about this funny conversation and she completely lost her shit. And so did her boyfriend. It wasn't too long before she informed me that her boyfriend thought Suzy was an outdated name but he was going to roll with it and as such, has decided to now call her  -V-  Bernadette. I almost died.  There for a little bit, it was all "How's Suzy?"   "Bored. she's going to pack her shit and leave me soon. How's Bernadette?" 

*You should be laughing right now. I am*

Over time, the nickname was shared with a few other friends and eventually Liv, who jumped on the bandwagon  I honestly can't remember how it came to be and I'll have to ask her to refresh my memory so that I can clarify, but Liv calls her shit "Bunny". I think she said it had something to do with needing petted or something. God, I hope she didn't say it was because it was really furry. Awkward.  

Anyway, a mutual friend of ours calls hers her kitty. And it apparently has teeth. I'm still not sure what that means, but it's fucking hilarious. Bunny does not have teeth. Suzy is bored. And Bernadette... well, Bernadette is hosting to someone many years her senior so I'm sure Bernadette is doing just fine. 

Today, Liv sent me a text about something shameful she did. She expected me to shake my finger at her and I kind of did. She's a big girl and makes her own decisions and we've ALL been there. But, as the bff - it's my job to love her through her shit and tell her to cut it the fuck out. Instead of lecturing Liv on her indiscretions,  I instead said:  "fuck it. it is what it is. you did what you did. you were safe. it's over. Now, cut that shit out or I'll lock Bunny in a fucking cage!"  This, was apparently the advice she needed me to provide because her response was "Yes. Lock her up and never give me the key. You know, until really necessary." 

I'm not sure what qualifies as "really necessary" though, so I'm torn. When is it okay to morally support my best bunny getting petted? 

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Warm Moist Places

It's not what you think. Perverts. Shit, who am I kidding? It's totally what you think.

In today's exciting adventure of "Tyra talks random shit about really random shit" we'll explore the exciting habitat of the rare and endangered, rarely seen underoo spider. I'll also give the answer to the question asked by millions of virgins the world over: Why do nice guys always finish last?

Get ready kids! This one is going to make my fingers bleed.

To start, let me say that my life has *finally* made some drastic changes. I've taken a new position which kicked my late nights and holidays and rotating weekends to the curb. Good fucking ridden! Yes, you're now blog-stalking the proud owner of a fancy pants new office and a 9-5 type schedule. I know what you're thinking: It's about fucking time! Well, you're actually probably thinking "Ya ya ya... get to the funny shit, already"   - I'm getting there, I promise. Keep your panties on. Actually... seriously.. keep them the fuck on! You'll see why that's so uber important later in the read. The reason why I'm droning on and on about my new position is because for the first time since my *dun dun dun* divorce, I have a "normal" visitation schedule. This means that I now have a few nights a month where I'm neither working, nor do I have my children. This is important because well, what the fuck am I supposed to do during that time? I'm still figuring it out. Know what else I'm figuring out? I'm getting fucking old. This was made apparent to me when I went out with the bff for St.Pattys Day. My first night out since New Years taught me 2 things: 

1) I cant drink like I used to. Thought I could. I was wrong. 
2) Lesson 1 taught me that 3 hours of fun = 12 hours of feeling like shit.

Still, good times were had. Sort of. Kind of. Well, drunk times were had and that's close enough, right???

Anyway, fast forward to the following Thursday night. I'm at home, alone. Comfy in my jammies getting settled in to watch some serious Vampire Diaries. Seriously. Bare with me.. the funny shit is coming. I swear!

Long story short, I was kind of friend red-carded into meeting the bff out at a local wings place. She knows that I'm writing this and asks not to be called by name. I really can't blame her on this one. Feeling generous, I gave her the opportunity to choose her screen name. She's fucking lucky, too because I had planned on just calling her Wankette. Alas, she chose Olivia. Aka Liv. Ya, I know... Wankette is like waaaay funnier. She doesn't care. So - Liv it is.

As I was saying. I was sitting around in sweats, waiting impatiently for Ian Summerholder to take off his shirt, when Liv texted me and asked me to meet her out for a few. You see, she was going on a date. Why did she need me there? You'll see..

Several hours of "Oh my fucking God Liv, you said you'd be there at 9. I got dressed for fucking nothing. Im not doing this shit. Hurry the fuck up or Im taking my bra back off" ... Liv finally showed up. I arrived shortly afterward and walked into the most awkward situation. Like ever. Like Taylor Swift ever.   I approach the tiny table, clearly made just for two and proceed to take the fuck over and plop my shit down, demanding a beer. This poor dude looked at me like I had personally just locked his dick up in a clear plastic cone- like the kind dogs wear after surgery to keep from licking their junk. Yes, he thought me an offending cock-blocker. Well, news for you kiddo: She wasn't going to give it up anyway because you're a fucking tool. Why else would she have to call me in for back-up? Ex-fucking-actly! 

Okay, so I shouldn't be so mean. This kid is actually pretty nice and aside from some weird ass teeth, he wasn't bad looking. The down-side? He's fucking boring as shit! 

Take note here virgins! Wanna know why nice guys always finish last??? Because you're fucking boring as shit! Seriously! Grow a pair! Mine are bigger than yours, and that is not a compliment to me. I already know I have huge balls. Where the fuck are yours?????

Now that the PSA is over... fast-forward through me cracking jokes, and making home-boy feel about as big as my pinky toe. Ya, the situation was awkward but, fuck it. I didn't put on a bra for nothing. I had a beer and my best friend. Good times were inevitable. 

At one point during our oh, so stimulating conversation which consisted of Liv and I bantering back and forth like we hadn't just spent the entire fucking day texting, while Matt piped in with approximately 4 words every hour or so.... the topic turned to underwear. How did we get there? I dont fucking know dude. How am I supposed to know how my brain works? It never effing listens to me! Anyway... soon as panties were on the table, figuratively, Mr. I'm never getting laid this decade decided to pipe in with an interesting bit of info. He states how he knows that Liv never doesn't wear panties because she's afraid of bugs getting into her ho-ha. 

First thought: How the fuck does this tool know this information about her, and I don't?
Second thought: What the fuck is wrong with my best friend if bugs in the crotch is a legit fear for her?

So I say the following:

"First, how the fuck do you know that about her, and I don't? Second, what the fuck is wrong with you if getting bugs in your ho-ha is a legit fear for you??"

**I told you I had no brain to mouth filter.**

Liv proceeds to tell me that she once heard some horror story about a giant spider being found in some womans junk during and ER visit. She said : And I fucking QUOTE:  

"I figure that ya know, they like warm, moist places. And I guess I kind of feel like the underwear provides some sort of barrier against angry vagina attacking spiders or something."

Yes, she's fucking awesome! 

It took me half of a beer and some serious thought sorting before I could finally respond. I was dumbfounded. That like, never happens. 

I came back with a long ass lecture which went something like this:

Liv, first of all- I love you. Secondly, I truly appreciate your fear of all things creepy-crawly. Next, I've actually witnessed insects living in bush while working in ER. It's not pretty. But most importantly, Liv - as tight as your fucking pants are, I seriously doubt that would ever be a real possibility for you. Like ever. Itsy-bitsy could never never make it up your water spout Liv. Is that a protective measure, as well? Like when you try on pants ... do you hop up and down and think "Yup. No spiders getting up these bitches. I'll take 'em!"?? 

Everyone laughed, of course because in the moment - and when filling in all the witty shit that I said and then forgot because like I said... I'm getting old... 2 beers and I start forgetting shit. 

My game is off tonight. My bad yo. When I mapped this blog out in my head, it flowed far more smoothly and made me laugh way more. I'll just have to try again tomorrow or something. 

In the mean time, keep your panties on! 

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

I understand, and I wish to continue.

That awkward moment, when you get home from a long ass shift, and try to plug your stethoscope into the wall in an attempt at charging your phone.... Ya, I've had a long day. I'm a sleepy girl. So! What better way to wind down than to tell you all about my masturbating squirrel/dog? 

Did I ever tell you that I have a dog? Well, I do although I use the term "dog" lightly. You see, I'm the proud and often annoyed mother to a 2 pound chihuahua named Bella. Or, Isabell when she's REALLY pissing me off. Before you go and make an assumption that I'm one of those dumb Paris Hilton bitches - let me explain a few things - 

1) I did not buy her. She was a gift. Because what woman doesn't love a gift that shits all over the place, right?? 

2) She is NOT one of those dumb dogs who's bread for it's tiny size, for fashion purposes in trade for having a tiny brain. No, she's just a runt. And just dumb. Her parents were full-sized and her litter mates (brothers) were full sized. She just got the shit end of the stick. 

3) She's practically handicapped by her size. She only has like 6 teeth because many of the baby teeth fell out and adult ones never grew in. Her heart is all jacked up and she can never have sex. EVER. Seriously. The vet told us that if we were to find a way to breed her, she'd have one pup and it would kill her. Luckily, she's apx the size of a chipmunk and therefore, can just never get it in. She, is not happy about this.

*Fun Fact* When she's in heat, her little midget vagina swells up so much that it basically turns inside out and becomes a penis for a week. Don't like that visual? Fuck you. Neither do I. 

4) She's horny. Like all the time. All that poor girl wants in life is to get laid. We have so much in common. 

In the past, I've found her having solo-play time with random objects like a random stuffed animal left on the floor, or my daughters fuzzy, expensive as shit slippers from Justice. Do you know what Justice is? It's the be all end all fashion line for little girls of the world. It's fucking terrible and everything that my little princess owns like OMG! So totally MUST be from Justice! $40 for a spaghetti-strap tank top that looks like it's from k-mart: fuck me! 

Several months ago, my three year old became obsessed with helping mommy clean. He picked out a feather type duster for just the occasion. It never made it to the blinds, however as it was immediately seized by my dog for her own personal satisfaction.

Bella has the hotts for the feather duster. The first time it happened, I thought she had died. Seriously. I saw her 'wrestling' with said green bringer of puppy pleasure for a while and then... suddenly... she died. Or, at least she did. What appeared to me to be my dog having a fucking miocaridal infarction (heart attack) was just in fact, her 'O' face. 

Allow me to elaborate....

So what I thought was just innocent puppy play went like this: Dog see's feather duster. Cupid shoots arrow directly into dog's anus. Dog roughs up feather duster. Ya know, because she's gotta show it who wears the pants and junk. So dog bites, shakes, jerks feather duster around for a bit. THEN! dog suddenly flips on her back and proceeds to do what appears to be having a seizure. I've since learned that it is in fact, dog rubbing her vagina all over feather duster in rapid cession for a few minutes before dieing. No, she didn't die. But I seriously thought she had. She stopped moving suddenly and I waited.    And waited.    And waited.    Finally, I gathered the scones to go scoop up what I thought to be my now DEAD dog, only to witness her jump the fuck up, look around in confusion as if to say "What? You do it too!" right before going back for round 2.    And then round 3.    And then round 4. .....   I counted that night. We got to 37 puppy-gasms before I finally stopped posting videos on facebook and took her boy-toy away from her before she rubbed herself raw. 

Why is this pertinent information? Well, because I just got home from a long shift of badness. (fuck you nursing) And first thing I do when I get home is always to let Bella out. Tonight, she was extra anxious to be freed from her confines. Instead of greeting me with love or vagina smelling kisses, or wanting to go outside, she just looked at me as if to say "It's about fucking time, bitch! I've got humping to do!" Which, is exactly what she did. For the past 20ish minutes or so. 

My dog gets more action than I do. My life sucks. 

Please, enjoy the following visual. I had to. It's only fair. 

Monday, February 11, 2013

How can you have any pudding, if you don't eat your meat???

Yup! That's right. I'm back bitches. I've been gone for a while now, due mostly to my perpetual laziness. That's the honest break-down, right there. This shit is hard. I mean... rambling incoherently  to an audience of zero to my peers... using spell check and shit. Watching Teen Mom in my pajamas... eating Cheeto's and drinking bud light... back breaking work right there y'all!

So why come back? Why now? Well, the catalyst was a convo I had with my friend "Dozer" the other day. No, that's not his name. It's a nickname by which I have no effing idea how it came to pass. Likely a play on his last name. Anyway, we were catching up and he asked me if I still do this shit. Pondering led me to look back and read some of my old posts. I came to two very important conclusions : 1) I'm fucking hilarious. 2) I miss the hell out of this. 

So, here I am. My apologies for anyone who genuinely enjoyed reading my nonsense. In the future, if I start slacking.. just hate mail me. That'll get my attention. 

Most of my former posts at least had some form of theme. Sure, maybe that theme was only in my head, but it was there, dammit! This, shall not. Enjoy the following, likely long as fuck set of random ramblings whilst I clear my head of all the cob-webs until I find my rhythm again :)

  • So, know what the best movie of ever is? Pitch Perfect. DUH. I literally watch it nightly. I need a fucking 12 step program for it. I was uber surprised by how much I enjoyed this slice of heaven. I thought it'd be all girly and shit, what with the singing and stuff. And ya.. it kind of is. BUT - know what else it has? Super, stupid hot nerd. That's what. Ya, I have a serious affliction for a hot nerd. Mmmm... talk binary to me baby! Wait.. don't. That gives me sad memories. Just take off your fucking shirt! While singing, of course. Ya. That's better. 

But no, seriously. That movie is the shit and you should watch it. Like right now. Like right the fuck right now. Wait.. after you're done reading my blog and telling me how amazeballs I am. THEN go watch it. It's effing hilarious, and you're welcome!

  • I started dating. It sucks. The end. Some day, my prince will come. And I shall punch him in the nuts for being so fucking late! 

  • My kids are still assholes. Surprising, I know. Recently, I had been bitching about the dog shitting in the corner. 11yr old wants me to give her away stating something about how it's not acceptable for just anybody to go to the bathroom in the corner. I cracked some smart-ass remark that apparently sounded enough like a dare to get him to excuse himself from the table, walk his skinny little ass over to the corner by the fridge and stand like he was peeing. I thought he was joking. He wasn't. Calling his bluff, and desire to never, ever let mom see 'the boys' ... I walked over to witness him zipping up, backing away with a very definite line of piss on my wall. HE PISSED ON MY FUCKING WALL! You probably think I beat the hell out of him, don't you??? Well, I wanted to but truth is, I couldn't stop laughing. I almost pissed my own pants while handing him the proper cleaning products. And then, posting publicly on facebook while he watched as a form of shame/punishment. 

Yup, still going for mother of the year. 

  • Oh, holy fuck! I literally JUST watched a preview for some really stupid looking movie called 21 and over... which features the hot nerd from Pitch Perfect. I dont know what his real name is. I don't effing care. He is Jesse. He is MY Jesse, and I'm totally sporting a toner for him. (Watch the damn movie and that pun will make sense) 

  • As I'm typing this, I'm realizing that shit! Most of my best material has been used up by the guy I was seeing. He who shall remain nameless... ugh... And the bestie aka Mare. She rocks my fucking socks with her giant glow-in the dark mutant radioactive propelling hulk penis and all her wankette twat punching. Ya, she's reading this right now. Ya, I love you Mare bear!

She's also my date for v-day. Know why I call it 'v-day' and not 'Valentines Day'?? because my version sounds more like and STD and that's kind of how I see it these days. All those pink hearts and perverted half-naked babies can go fuck themselves. I don't need any of that hooey. I've got Mare, Pitch Perfect, brownies, wine and a WHOLE LOT of shit talking to do. It shall be epic! 

  • I still hate spiders, fyi. But have had far, far fewer life or death experiences since moving out of the country. Thank Jesus. 

  • I also still like vodka, but it doesn't like me anymore after the Tyra pukes her guts out on New Years Eve debacle of 2012/2013.  

  • I still don't have a delicious, tall dark and yumm piece of sexy who conveniently can't ever find his shirt as a neighbor. This, is still bullshit. Who do I report this injustice to? The neighborhood watch committee??? 

  • I'm going to be a character in a book. A hot vampire. Ya, my life sucks, but it's cooler than yours. 

  • Oh... and I still like to drop the f-bomb. See! Not much has changed. 

Can't wait for next time! I seriously forgot how much I loved this shit!!

Monday, October 8, 2012

Oh No, They Didn't

I'm not entirely certain what the point of my painstakingly taking the time to type this all out. I'm fairly certain that nobody is reading, anyway. It's cool. I get it. It started off strong, got a good following, some good reviews, and then..... I got busy. People got bored. I get it. 

Well, fuck it. If nobody ever sees this but the lovely muah, it's all good in the hood. Consider this my e-diary or some shit like that. 

So... back to my title header- Oh No, They Didn't! That is in reference to some serious fuck-up-ery that just went down in my living room! 

Okay - here's "THE WARNING" ... If you've read any of my postings, you know what that means... This is the one and only disclaimer you'll get about my following words. And, after that, it stands and I don't give a shit if you have a problem with it. Hate me, e-mail me, talk shit. It's all good in the hood. HA! That is funny, in relation to what I'm about to type- you just don't know it yet!   

So, 'The Warning' is this : I am NOT a racist. Not. I know, I know, usually people only say that if they are in fact, a racist, and don't want to get the shit beat out of them by Shaniqua and her shoe... or they say that right before they say something that can be easily misinterpreted as being racist in nature... Which, I'm about to do...

So, A little back story- My birth mothers' side of the family is Southern. As in my grandma is an elderly southern white woman, living in Yankee territory. I say Yankee territory, because we live in North-West Ohio. This, has no impact on the fact that my bat-shit crazy, racist as fuck grandma lives smack down in the middle of the ghetto. Yup! She does. And hates it. But won't leave because she's lived there since the dawn of time and QUOTE: "I was here first" 

You see where I'm coming from, here? Well, it's 2012 and shit just doesn't go down like it used to. Also, having a mixed baby born into the family a few years back may have given her a fucking coronary aneurysm, but did eventually soften that old hag's heart. So, the old school southern living is in my blood. Paula Dean style. Fry it! That's the answer to everything in my family. 
-- Hungry? Got some taters? Fry it! Foot hurt, from the diabetes? Fry it! Liver full of fat and shutting down? Fry it! 

Shit! What was my point? Shouldn't blog and text at the same time. Or, blog, text, watch The Bad Girls Club, and drink a beer at the same time. Not that I'm doing that right now, or anything. Noooooo! 

Oh ya, my point - I have old, white, southern blood in my veins. This, means that it's required by genetic code that I list STEEL MAGNOLIAS as one of my all-time fav movies! Ya know, I'm talking old school Julia Roberts, Dolly Patton, Sally Fields, all wrapped up in a pretty package with a diabetic cry myself to sleep with my best friend bow. Good Shit. 

So, It's Monday night, the kiddies are in bed and I'm bored. Ya, I could be folding laundry or some shit like that but instead, I'm surfing through the TV guide. I see Steel Magnolias is just starting on the Lifetime Network, and I get my panties all in a bunch in excitement. Ya, I own the movie on DVD .. but having it come on TV is way better! Minus the commercials and deleted scenes, it's like God's way of saying "Hey, You! Watch this shit!" 

Of course, I quickly flip the channel and find myself perplexed. Expecting to find all these old white Betties griping and moaning about tomatoes and bird shit and different shades of blush in a wedding, I'm confused by what I see on my boob tube. Heheheh.. boob....  What I ACTUALLY find on my 'tube' is a bunch of black people dressed like the fucking Tanners. Ya know, Michelle Tanner. AKA - Sweater vests, white-people don't even wear that shit anymore - white clothes. 
At first, I thought that it must have been a TV scheduling mistake. That happens, sometimes. Or, I hit the wrong button. So, I go back to guide and yup! Still says 'Steel Magnolias' but then, I notice the year, 2006. Knowing this to be historically inaccurate, I continue reading. When I find the specific profile for the movie I'm trying to watch, but mother-effing Queen Latifa listed where I'd normally expect to see Sally Fields, I have a fucking conniption and go back to the movie to scoop it out for myself. 

I find the movie I WANT  to watch, but with different actors. It's a goddamn remake and I'm losing my fucking mind. Before I start breaking shit, I send the following text, verbatim to 'the boy'...

Okay.. I'm a racist. It's official. Let me explain:
Steel Magnolias: an all time fav movie. Old school Julia Roberts, Dolly Parton, Sally Fields.. a movie that old southern women of the world love and cherish. It's practically part of my heritage. 

Saw it on TV guide. Got excited. 
Turned channel and thought I clicked wrong bc it's just a bunch of black people dressed like white people. 
But it wasn't wrong click. It's a mother fucking remake with Queen Latifa. Same script. Just black people fucking shit all up. I don't know what to do. This is an abomination I need to contact my senator or stage a protest or go streaking or something. 

What do I do? How do I make this right? My mother is rolling in her grave and heaven help if my grandma sees it. She'll load her fucking gun. Seriously. 

I know what you're thinking - SHIT! That's a long ass text message. Yes, yes it was. I recieved the following response:

Lol. Watch Barbershop and laugh. That'll make em believe ur legit not racist. 

My response: 

No no no. I don't care if ppl think Im racist. Screw that. I'm just WAITING for the call from my grandma. She's bat shit crazy. And lives in the ghetto. Oh, fuck. I'm not going to get a call from her. I'm going to get a call from the Lima PD or the fucking hospital. It's the goddamn apocalypse. 




All joking aside, I'm seriously pissed. And, I just found my next blog topic ;)

Monday, September 24, 2012

Super Nanny!

Okay, I'm taking a huge risk here. I know this is even more crass than even I normally divulge. However, I need to vent. 4Realz. Don't judge. Don't hate. Just feel happy that it's me, and not you. 

For reader reference, my kids are :
11yr old Boy AKA - B
7yr old Girl AKA - A
3yr old Boy AKA - L


That was me e-screaming in frustration. 

I love my kids. I love being a mother. However, I don't always like the little fuckers and today is one of those days. Today, I'm trying desperately to remember WHY I decided 
against selling them to gypsies or just leaving them on the side of the road with a 'free to good home' like I had thought about doing oh, so many times. 

Also, my browser is being a douche.
Instead of my cursor hopping it's happy little ass down to the next line like it's SUPPOSED to do, it will instead scroll on and fucking on for ya know, EVER. Bitches!

Why is my computer being gay? I'm sure it's not at all related to the entire fucking cup of coffee my spawn spilled on my cord. Noooooo. I know, that's actually not the reason. 
Truthfully, techy shit is just forever messing up for me for no apparent reason what so fuck ever. 

This is going to contain even more profanity than normal for me. FYI

So my little darlings are assholes. Really. The two oldest fight all the fucking time. I can't fucking take it anymore. And fighting over the computer resulted in a spill. Okay, spills happen. I get that
But this should not have. So I've yelled at B no less than fifty fucking times today for shit like hanging off the kitchen chair. (He's already broken one that way) over and fucking over.
And the fighting. And the eye-rolling. and the back talk. Seriously, I had to avoid violence all together for fear that I'd take it too far. When he was being a dick and fucking with A
during her earned computer time, and spilled my coffee all over the fucking place I flipped my shit. I also told him that if my comp was ruined I was taking his new TV back and buying 
myself a new comp instead. Little fucker. 

So I resort to the old clean shit and shut the fuck up punishment. Gave him 20 mins to get his room spotless. A the same. She's not an innocent party here. Then, I had a whole list of assigned shit for them to do that would occupy the rest of their night. I did all this in my very most menacing voice. But controlled my volume level so the neighbors wouldnt call the cops. 30 mins later I went down to check on his progress. Surprise surfuckingprise. NOTHING had been done. His room was trashed! And the fucking TV was on. Of course, I flipped my shit again. And took his remote and controllers. Made him get his ass up stairs and start scrubbing shit. Literally. I made him
clean toilets. 

At bedtime I suddenly realized I was out of milk. Shit. So, I loaded them all up to run to grab some real fast. By this time bedtime was shot to hell. Got back at 8:30 and 
gave him til 9 to finish the job or find a new fucking place to live. Okay, I didnt say that, but it was implied. What do you know? 9pm I go down to talk/hug it out with him and 
ohmymotherfuck nothing was done. STILL! And the goddamn TV was on! ON! 


That was it for me. Told him to assume the position while I got the spoon. AKA Im about to beat your ass. L, who has also been a complete dick today heard me say I was getting the spoon.
Started asking why I was going to hit his brother. Seriously? Well, I was NOT backing down. Got the spoon and headed back down stairs. Told L to stay put. He said he wanted
to watch me. Normally I wouldnt have allowed it but in a moment of rage decided it might put some fear into him as well so being the shitty ass mom I am today, I let my three yr old
watch me whoop my 11yr olds ass. hard. Then told B to brush his damn teeth and go the hell to sleep. That was it. No hugs. No I love you's No good night. Nothing. 

I've also been going back and forth with 'mommys not-so-little princess' all fucking day. She screws around non fucking stop. Non stop! a 30 second task will take this kid 3 hours 
unless I hold a bic under her ass. Also, she dicked around and ripped the fucking curtain rod out of the wall in her room. Do you KNOW how hard it was for me to hang that shit? 
Like really, really hard! I bled for crotch sakes. She did not get an ass beating but I"m considering waking her up and throwing one in just for good measure. 

And then, there's L. He's been in a state of total anarchy lately. Seriously. I know it's largely my fault. I'm effing tired dammit. I don't always put up the fight with him that I should.
But holy balls if that kid has one more 20min crying fit because i wont bend to his will I'm going to ship him off to a third world country in excahnge for a new pair of Nikes. If it fits, it ships motherfucker!

I'm seriously rocking worlds worst mom guilt right now with a side of I will NOT use duct tape. I will NOT use duct tape. I will NOT.... where's the fucking duct tape??

I believe in picking my battles with kids. As it is right now, I need to pick them all. But how do I do that exactly? I'd literally spend every waking minute punishing or yelling. 
Thats no fun for anybody. B has become such an ungrateful little shit too. So fucking entitled. Nothing I do is ever good enough. If I didn't legit have concern over his saftey 
and well being I'd tell him to pack his shit and go see if the grass is greener with his asshole abusive absent cradle-robbing father. Except the grass would be greener, to him.
he'd play PS3 all night, eat pop tarts and mt.dew and never move past a 5th grade education.

**Let the record show, I just did some editing here. I had continued on for a bit longer, but after cooling down, I came to my senses and removed content that just isn't appropriate for online. While entertaining to read, my morality got the best of me. Sorry peeps. **

I need supernanny. And vodka. 

Yes, I need to take swigs of vodka, while supernanny whips my kids in shape. 

I do everything for these little assholes. Everything. I don't do shit for myself. But it's still not good enough. 

Now that I've tainted your opinion on me and likely invited a fucking case worker over for a surprise home visit, I think I'll call it. 

Sorry for venting. Needed to let steam out before I just exploded all together.

**UPDATE: As of this morning, all is fine and well in my household again. The talk/hugging it out took place and went exceptionally well. Despite the fact that I was up late tossing and turning over yesterdays antics. In all honesty, I felt guilty for spanking the 11yr old. Don't get me wrong. I'm not anti-spank. Sometimes, a kid just needs their ass beat. However, I believe that if I'm doing my job right, I should be able to avoid physical punishment for the most part. Unfortunately, my being up late resulted in me over sleeping and eldest missing the school bus. We squashed our beef on the ride to school. I really do love my kids. Really. They're amazeballs. Wouldn't trade them for the world. But I'm not perfect and parenting doesn't come with a handbook. And kids don't come with an off button. But they should. 

Saturday, September 1, 2012

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Oh, Thank Jesus!

I've found it! I've found the holy grail of our people! 
Ladies, and even gents... I officially give Seduction and Snacks by Tara Sivec my stamp of approval! No. No. No.... not JUST my stamp of approval, but my OMG you MUST pick up this book right the hell right now stamp! If you never read another book again, you MUST read this one!

Also on the list of things you MUST do while reading Seduction And Snacks...

1. Wear a panty-liner, or adult diaper depending on how often you do kegals. You WILL piss yourself!
2. Grab a notebook, pen, and highlighter. You WILL find yourself repeatedly wanting to jot down a slew of the most ass-tastic one-liners you've ever heard.
3. Grab a friend. Trust me.. reading this together is far better than the way I did it, which included me texting my bff every five fucking minutes, with an update or funny quote!
4. Set your alarm clock BEFORE you start reading. Otherwise, you'll find yourself barely able to keep your eyes open at 4am, yet unable to pry your kindle from your cramped fingers and the next thing you know, you're kids have missed the bus on the first fucking day of school.
5. Buy batteries and chocolate. You'll thank me for that later, I PROMISE!!!!

And finally....The single, most important rule of reading Seduction and Snacks...
Share the love! Had a fellow blogger not turned me onto my new bible, I would have missed out on the read of a life-time. Share the word. Post links. Like Tara Sivec on facebook and for God's sake... leave a review, will ya???

Product Description

Claire is a twenty-something, single mom that grudgingly helps her best friend sell sex toys while she attempts to make enough money to start her own business to give her foul-mouthed, but extremely loveable (when he's asleep) toddler a better life.  
When Carter, the one-night-stand from her past that changed her life forever, shows up in her hometown bar without any recollection of her besides her unique chocolate scent, Claire will make it a point that he remembers her this time.  
With Carter's undisguised shock at suddenly finding out he has a four-year-old son and Claire's panic that her stretch marks and slim to none bedroom experience will send the man of her dreams heading for the hills, the pair will do whatever they can to get their happily ever after.
Warning: contains explicit sex, profanity and enough sarcasm to choke a horse.

About the Author

Tara Sivec is a wife, mom, chauffeur, soccer coach, babysitter, short-order cook, genius and the funniest person she's ever met. She lives in Ohio with her husband and two kids. In her spare time she likes to write and make people spit Diet Coke out of their nose. Most of her material comes from real life experiences with family and friends. Lucky for them, the names have been changed to protect the innocent (aka, drunk).