Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Moist...the word of the day....

I like the word moist.

It describes a variety of things I enjoy....cake...kisses...towelettes...soil...chicken...you get the gist of it, right?
Of course there are a few people who think moist is a disgusting word but I think it's just because they have heard it used improperly.



The way I see it is that it's all about how you use the word. It's not a bad word at all!

It's used to advertise many useful products...cake mix...heating pads...chicken cooker thingy's.
HUH?
What's a chicken cooker thingy?
It's one of these things...



Apparently you use it when you cook your chicken to help make it moist.
You stick it in the chicken...like so...

And you get the gosh darndest, cutest, moistest chicken ever!

How can anyone say that moist is a bad word?
It's all about how you use it....seriously...

For example...Mr.Man just called me because he was pooping. He's one of those dudes who can't stand to poop away from home, but occasionally he is forced to so he either...
A: Designates a stall at work as his own safe poop-zone
B: Calls me while on the shitter to establish contact with home base.

Ok...so what's my point you ask?
Don't be so fucking impatient...
I was talking about correct ways to use moist.

So anyhow, he called me and told me he was pooping. I asked him how it was going. He said it was fine. So I asked him if he was constipated and he said no. So I said to him, "Well that's good. It's a nice moist shit then."


"MOIST!"

See!
That is one correct way of using the word moist.(And you were thinking that it only works when discussing cake...HA!)

Of course there are inappropriate ways to use the word too.

For example, if you see some hot guy standing in line at Krogers you should not say to the cashier or some total stranger, "Wow...that guy makes my panties moist!"


"Why does this woman ALWAYS come through MY checkout lane?"

People don't appreciate the visual and unless you're having phone sex or texting suggestively to your lover, moist should not be used in that context.

Other suggestions for things NOT to use moist for:


"Man...it's fucking hot.I'm feeling a little moist under the titties!"

Most people don't appreciate knowing about that sweaty place beneath your mammaries...just saying.

Here's another inappropriate use of the word "moist"...

"I think I sharted...my ass crack feels moist."


"It must be something I ate..."


Yeah...that's not appropriate unless it's Elderly Hell day and you want to escape a situation involving several old ladies and huge shopping carts...

One exception to using the word moist in a rude manner is shown below.Sometimes it's necessary to say something in an appropriate situation...


"He needs some goddamn deodorant...he stinks and his pits look pretty moist."

I'm sure you get the general idea now.

I'm always glad to help out....

So remember when you use the word "moist" today, use it correctly and with caution!

Friday, July 24, 2009

I was...but I didn't. What the hell???

Mr.Man looked so adorable this morning that I had the urge to tie him up and molest him.
But after checking my night stand, I realized we were out of condoms.
For a split second I considered driving to the store in my pajamas and buying some before he woke up, but then I decided against it.
It's a small town...I'd hate to give the Jesus Police even more ammunition than they already have.
Can you imagine?


"QUICK! Ring up this box of condoms before he wakes up and gets out of the restraints!"

Yeah...for some odd reason, this didn't seem like a good idea. Go figure.
Usually something like this would be right up my alley
I have some great ideas...

Maybe I'm getting scared in my old age?
Whatever the reason for this new found consciousness, I don't like it.

And this morning isn't the only time it's happened recently.

The other night the crazy woman who lives across the street came out of her house at midnight and cleaned out her truck.
Yeah...you remember...this woman...here and here and here and here..

She turned on her radio at FULL VOLUME and began cleaning out her truck...at midnight!
Then she began to sing to the song that was playing on the radio....OFF KEY!
The whole thing sounded like cats fucking with a George Strait song playing in the back ground.
My head almost exploded.
I stomped out of bed and down the stairs, ready to walk across the street and beat the stupid out of her, when I realized I was only wearing one of Mr.Man's T-shirts...
NO panties.
I hesitated...thought about just going out there anyway...and then decided it probably wasn't a good idea.

By the time I went back upstairs to put some pants on, she had finished and gone inside.
I missed my golden opportunity. God knows, she NEEDS the stupid beat out of her.

See what I mean?
All this consciousness lately....what's up with that?
Normally I run on spontaneity. I can't have this conscience thing causing me to second guess my decisions!

I believe I'm going to have to spend the day home, keeping to myself until this thing passes.

I'm really concerned about myself and I'm going to purge my system with beer tonight.
I'm hoping that will help get me back on track.

Wish me luck!!!

Thursday, July 23, 2009

My glasses make me smart and Lucky Charms make me crazy!

I'm kind of irritated today.
SOMEONE ATE ALL THE MARSHMALLOWS OUT OF THE BOX OF LUCKY CHARMS AND THEN PUT THE BOX BACK!

That REALLY pissed me off....

It pissed this dude off too...


"Don't be fucking with the goddess' Lucky Charms now..."

I'm just REALLY MAD ABOUT THIS!

FIRST of all...it means some asshole put their little dick grabbers in the damn box and went through the cereal, looking for marshmallows...

SECONDLY...the cereal tastes like little balls of rolled up newspaper without the fucking marshmallows!

THIRDLY....I WAS IN THE MOOD FOR SOME MOTHER FUCKING LUCKY CHARMS!!!!!!!

There...I feel a little better now that I got that off my chest.

I'm slightly worried about my mental health...
Yes...I know that probably comes as a shock to you, but I need to talk about it.


"Are you ready for this?"

Ok...you seem ready so here it goes...

Last night Mr.Man and I were home alone for awhile.
Nice, right?
I was TOTALLY worked up and in the mood to abuse him in so many tasty way....when something happened that actually killed the mood for me.
Yes...I lost the urge...instantly!
This has never happened to me before, so it concerns me.
Let me explain....

Mr.Man was standing in the kitchen reading the back of a box of cereal (yeah...I know...he does crazy shit like that all the time...) ANYWAY...he was standing there and I got to thinking about how scrump-man-dal-ee-icious he is so I got on my knees and unzipped his pants.
I withdrew his Mr.Happy stick and slowly took it in my mouth.
I quickly spit it back out again!
BLEH!
PWTOOEY!


"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?"

The damn thing was covered in baby powder!
Fucking baby powder!!!!
Talk about a mood killer...

I mean, what the hell?
Does he get out of the damn shower and "POOF POOF POOF" himself in a powdery fit?

It TOTALLY killed all the horny cells in my body.
It took at LEAST 8 hours for my body to replace them all.
This has NEVER HAPPENED TO ME BEFORE!

Hell...I've shrugged off a lot of shit and remained horny under circumstances that would normally kill the mood.

I've been farted on during sex...and it was raunchy...smelled like a dead carcass rotting in Mr.Man's colon,but that didn't kill the mood for me.

The roller shade has flown up, exposing us in the very act of "gettin down and goin to town" and that didn't kill the mood for me...

I've queefed in a very loud manner with poor Mr.Man's ears mere inches from the queefer itself and then laughed to the point of shaking like a bowl of jello (which makes any woman feel SOOO attractive)...and THAT didn't kill the mood for me.

It takes a lot to kill the mood for me, ok?

But APPARENTLY...baby powder kills the mood for me.
Mr.Man will cover himself from head to toe in that damn shit when he's not in the mood to play now!
He has a secret weapon now...an invisibility cloak, so to speak.

But the old goddess here isn't a dumbass...
I have a secret that I will share with you.

This.....



looks like this....



BWAHAHAHAHA!
I will fill the baby powder container with powdered sugar.
Don't worship me...it's actually my glasses that make me smart.
My glasses and determination...they motivate me.

Speaking of motivated...I need to get busy.
See ya tomorrow...

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Little Beatle's birthday request....

My son's birthday is coming up next month.
He's such a sweet boy that I find it tough to say no to him when he asks for something.
Of course this morning, after having a few other boys stay over night with him, he did make a request that I'm finding to be slightly disturbing...

He wants a "vagina cake" for his birthday...

His 13th birthday.


"He asked his maw fer a giner cake?"

Yes...
Yes he did.

I began to ask him where he got the idea for this but then stopped myself.
Do I want to know?
How could my sweet little baby possible know about vagina cakes?
I decided to google it...hoping I might find some explanation...some INNOCENT explanation...

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

The Urban dictionary had several definitions...all of which I did not like.
I'm not even going to repeat them on here.

As for the google image search...that's even WORSE than the web search...

I doubt that I will post that on here, mainly because I'm in shock.

Instead I felt there might be other options for a birthday cake for my little baby boy.

For example...

How about this cake?



I will enclose a special message on a card with the cake saying, "This is what mommy will look like if you EVER mention a vagina again...EVER!!!"

And of course there is this option as well....



The note with this cake would say something along the lines of this..."This is the police car that will take mommy away for assault on a minor if you EVER say vagina in front of mommy again because she will beat you senseless with your old baby bottle shaped like a teddy bear!"

Of course I might get him this cake...



The card with this cake would say, "Son, I thought you'd like a Veggie Tales cake because the Christian school I'm considering sending you to LOVES Veggie Tales and I wanted to give you a preview of what high school will be like for you....IF YOU EVER SAY VAGINA IN FRONT OF YOUR MOMMY AGAIN!!!!

HEY!
IF I SAY HE'S STILL A BABY, HE'S STILL A BABY DAMNIT!

Vagina cake my ass.....

Now I know what James T. Kirk's mother felt like....



Yes...there's a Star Trek cake...

Actually, I've made two decisions.
I'm going to make MYSELF a cake and then let Mr.Man deal with this problem....



I wonder what flavor ice cream would be good with this cake?

All I have to say is thank god his birthday is next month....

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

The flaky momma...a true life story.

My trips home are normally wonderful.
I always enjoy seeing everyone and it's great to be able to spend time with my family.
But occasionally, I find myself wanting to jump in the car and drive like a bat out of hell to get AWAY from it....
This mostly happens because of my mother.



My mother might be summed up in one five letter word....flake.(You thought I was going to say bitch, didn't you?)
Yep...flake definitely describes her better than bitch (although she can wear that coat like it was tailor made for her too.)

I'm going to have to go back a bit to really explain this in the best way possible.

From the moment of my first memory,it involves something faddish.
Whenever there is a new fad, it becomes my mother's favorite thing in the whole wide world.
I have lived through her hippy stage, disco stage, big 80's hair stage...well...you get the picture.

I lived, breathed and experienced everything vicariously through my mother....me, the unwilling participant most of the time.I equate it to the way a ball and chain feel once they've been clamped onto a prisoner...

My brother, thank god, went to live with my grandparents when he was 7 years old. He spent most of his time there anyway, so he just told them one day he didn't want to go home...so I was the sole prisoner.

Anyway....
I was a love child of the 60's,dressed in the psychedelic fabrics with fringes and beads. I could have choked to death in my crib (which as also adorned with the same fabrics but decorated with a bead curtain).
I was left to run outside, naked if I wanted (and you wondered where I developed a love for that kind of thing), with my hair bleached white and my skin browner than a coconut.
She filled my baby bottle with coke though, which would have clued me if I had the ability to comprehend it at that very young age, that it was just a fad for her...a phase. If she'd have been serious about the hippy thing, she'd have have been filling my bottle with goats milk or carrot juice or something.

We then moved into the peace activist's stage of the early 70's. While protesting the Vietnam war, she would regularly head to the local base to party and pick up a few things...(GI's mostly). She'd party with them and the smell of marijuana would fill the house. I'd sit out on the porch and read comic books or color in my coloring books because I didn't like the smell. I can still recall the fuzzy orange rug in the middle of our living room with a giant peace sign hanging above our pink and orange sofa. The peace sign was tie-dyed.
No wonder I needed glasses in second grade. The bright colors blinded me...

As I got older, she discovered disco and the hippy, peace loving woman disappeared. She chopped off her long hair and got a perm. She starved herself to an unhealthy thinness and looked like a dust mop...or at least that's what I though.
Gold lame'tube tops and designer jeans with heels and that freakin big hair. She'd flounce into the house and then flit out again...on her way to party all night.


"A shot of Flaky from behind, dancing at the disco."

How awesome is my paint shop art? HAHAHA!

I think she forgot she had a kid during that time. I vaguely remember her looking at me like "who the hell are you?" one night when she came home from work to change before going out.
So I spent the latter 70's a disco diva's house maid, more or less.

And finally in the 80's before she kicked me out, I was the caretaker of a recovering disco diva/slash big hair party girl.
I'm not feeling the need to go into that phase today, but let's say she was at the top of her flakiness....

When I was a kid, I used to sing "She'll be coming around the mountain when she comes" but I had made up my own lyrics to it.
I was creative like that, even from an early age...

She'll be coming home, when she comes.
She'll be coming home, when she comes.
She'll be racing like wild horses, running from all her divorces, she'll be coming home, when she comes.

She'll be bringing home lots of boyfriends, when she comes.
She'll be bringing home lots of boyfriends, when she comes.
She'll be bringing home mostly losers, who'll turn out to be abusers...She'll be bringing home lots of boyfriends, when she comes.

And I won't go out to meet her when she comes.
And I won't go out to meet her when she comes.
I'll be invisible and silent,so no one will get violent, no..I won't go out to meet her when she comes.


Not very funny I guess, but I was a weird kid. I had strange ways of coping with things.

In spite of all her different looks, she's always reminded me of Eunice from the Carol Burnett show.
You know...the flaky, self-centered thing.
The first time I saw Eunice in action, I thought to myself..."THAT is her, just toned down a bit...."


"IT WAS A SEVEN!"

Yep...that pretty much nails it...Flaky in the flesh.

So anyway, EVERY year since I can remember, my mother has thrown herself a birthday party. And it's always needed to be a big deal for her. Hell...her birthdays now are a bigger deal than mine were when I was a kid.
The year she turned 60, we planned a party for her, complete with signs and presents and cake. But because we were also celebrating the 4th of July and everyone didn't sit around and watch her open all her presents, she insisted that no one had given her a birthday party.


"I didn't GET a birthday party for my 60th birthday....*pouts*"

PLEEEASSSSE....How freaking old are you????
The degree to which it annoys me is beyond comprehension.
Seriously...

So this year, once again, we were forced to sit around and watch a grown 60ish woman, open her presents and make a big deal over herself....AGAIN!


"MAMA! Look what I got from Jer! (Which we all know is really Jerry) Isn't it the MOST beautiful thing? I LOVE IT!"

And believe me when I say this is the same thing she tells everyone about the gifts she gets from them...(except me of course...)
She sits in the center of the room and goes on and on about what everyone got her (except me..we've been over this before)and we all suffer through it. My brother could literally wrap up a dog turd and it would be the "BEST THING EVER!". I could give her diamonds and she'd glance at them and then make big over everything else. Thankfully I'm not concerned about it or I'd get my feelings hurt all the time. It does bother my brother though and I've told him, "Don't sweat it. It's not your fault she's a flake."
My brother and I are very close. We tolerate Flaky's actions because Nana kisses Flaky's ass and it's just easier to do it than get Nana all upset.

Flaky has this annoying habit of shortening people's names. For example, if your name is Bruce, you'd still be Bruce, but if it's Delbert, you'd be Del.
Iris would be Iris but Shelly would be Shel.
I don't fucking know how she makes the decision who gets a shortened name and who doesn't but it's enough to make me want to gouge my eyes out every single time she does it.

This post probably seems depressing and petty but you know, I needed to get it off my chest.
The woman makes me crazy sometimes.
Most days I deal with it just fine, but when I spend a couple weeks with her, it pokes and prods at my insides until I just have to get it off my chest....
After I do, it's back to my regular life.

Watch the Eunice video...it's funny. Of course I've always loved Carol Burnett so that makes it funny anyway...but it's even more so because it's a living, breathing example of Flaky...

Flaky...a true story and what will help sell my autobiography someday...

Sorry this is late today but my computer got a nasty virus earlier in the day and after hours of work and a system restore, it seems to be fixed.

THANK GOD!!!

Monday, July 20, 2009

The Bread Beast's aggressive wiener....

So my trip to Maine this year was pretty quiet.
I know...hard to believe, right?
But I'm serious.
It was QUIET.
The Beericksons were out of town.
There was no party.
The Christmas in July happened just this past weekend and the annual pig roast will be next weekend.
WTF?
I swear....you get drunk and do a Swedish polka on the picnic table at ONE FAMILY PARTY AND THEY NEVER LET YOU LIVE IT DOWN!



I gave back the sausages...well...most of them anyway.

Whatever...

On our way to Maine we stopped in Massachusetts and saw the Bread Beast and Gucci Girl.
It was awesome to see them!
Bread Beast had picked up some Sam Adams for me and I was spoiled rotten by Gucci Girl. She makes this incredible sauce that's insanely delicious! Plus there was a hot breakfast the two mornings we were there and I didn't have to cook!
We even got to sit out by the fire pit and relax....


"The definition of relax according to the Blonde Goddess dictionary is to sit and drink until you begin to look and act stupid. Thus endeth the lesson for today."

By the way...that's me with the short hair, sporting my glasses. I'm starting to look more and more like a NanNan every day, no? Oh yeah...and the update is that Freya doesn't like the term NanNan and says the baby will call me MeMe instead. She's having a boy and he's due in November...

Now what was I talking about?
Oh yeah...our stop at the Bread Beast and Gucci Girl's house.


"Designed after the Bread Beast's favorite urinal at work."

We mainly hung out and got caught up on our lives but did venture out for a trip through the town where they live Saturday afternoon. I took some pictures and there's one in particular that I thought was bizarre but I'm going to save that for another post.(Mainly because I haven't downloaded my pictures yet.)

Little Beatle and Hockey Star are the same age and if they said four complete sentences to eachother I'd be amazed.They did, however, play XBox almost the entire time and bonded in that adolescent boy way. The girls texted and talked on their cell phones most of the time, so we adults got to visit almost entirely unmolested...

Well...except for the aggressive wiener.


"ARGGG!!!!"

The Bread Beast has no control over his wiener and Gucci Gal had to lock it up so it wouldn't attack our dog. (What can I say? We have an attractive dog....)
ANYWAY, in spite of the aggressive nature of the Bread Beast's wiener, I thought it was cute and I even got to touch it a few times when it was feeling more sociable.
Mr.Man said it was cute but he's really used to something bigger and unless it's a pussy, he doesn't believe they should be as small as that.

I actually felt terrible about locking up the wiener because it was plainly obvious it wanted to be let free, to bounce and jump around and drag itself through the grass in the backyard.

It was sad really...

I did get to witness a couple of tricks it knows how to do though.
In fact there is one trick published to YouTube....

Wanna see it?

I knew you would....

Here it is!



Isn't that the cutest wiener you've ever seen?
He really is adorable.

There is something I thought I should mention, mainly for Gucci Gal's benefit.

"I SLEPT IN YOUR GUEST BED IN THE NEKKIDNESS! NO UNDIES!"



Ain't I a stinker?
Look! I used to be a Keebler Elf!

I just had to inform Gucci Gal that I'd broken the rules while I was in her house. Nothing on the sheets though! Pinky swear!!!

Ok...that's enough tormenting for now. I need to get busy anyway.

I am back and tomorrow I will discuss my flaky mother....believe me. It's entertaining...at least if you're not related to her.

See you then!