It's Q&A Time in the Estro'hood

The Estro'hood

What's probably the most offensive 4-letter word? It's not fuck, shit or cunt - it's 'meme'. Nevertheless, Latte Junkie tagged me, and I must admit, I really enjoyed this one. So, thank you for the tag - I know you were hesitant. HA! What is it about me? Am I intimidating? Must be the whole 'breathing fire' thing - I can see how that would put some people aback. Anyhow, here are my answers:

Which living person do you most admire, and why? My mother. Life continuously dishes her out shit, pile after pile, yet she always handles it with grace and strength. She is amazing.

When were you happiest? Fishing with my grandfather. (He fished. I caught frogs. It was bliss.)

What was your most embarrassing moment? There are too many; hence, my blog - have a look around.

What’s the most expensive frivolous thing you’ve bought? A handmade silver & chunky amber necklace for £300 or the limited edition Auguste Rodin sculpture for $700.

What is your most treasured possession? 1. My external hard drive. That beast has got my entire life in it - professional and personal. If there's ever a fire, I'm going in after it. They won't be able to hold me back. 2. My Dogma poster, signed by Kevin Smith.

Where would you like to live? Melbourne, Australia. Duh.

What’s your favorite smell? Fresh coffee & baking cinnamon rolls

Lauren Collins {TVloop}

Who would play you in the film of your life? If it's for the story of my exchange, it would have to be Lauren Collins from Degrassi. First time I saw her, I wanted her for the part. Lauren! You and I need to have a chat, seriously! Have your people call my people.
If it's for a more general role - as an adult, probably Kate Winslet.

What is your favorite book? Oyster by Janette Turner Hospital or the Harry Potter series.

What is your most unappealing habit? Playing with my hair.

What would be your fancy dress costume of choice? A medieval-style dress with a corset and long bell sleeves. Marion or Guinevere.

What is your earliest memory? Running through the sprinkler on my grandparent's front lawn; I was likely 3 or 4.

What is your guiltiest pleasure? Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Blizzard.

What do you owe your parents? A lot of fucking money.

To whom would you most like to say sorry, and why? Jim. For not being brave enough, I'm sorry.

What or who is the greatest love of your life? My clitoris.

What does love feel like? Like the most comfortable blanket you've ever had. Even if you aren't cold, you want to completely wrap yourself in it and forget about everything else; nothing else matters.

What was the best kiss of your life? Yikes. I really think my pulse rate rose to equal levels during all three of these:
First kiss with Jim
First kiss with Greg
Valentine's Day with Sir Testosterone (not written... yet)

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
1. Seriously?
2. Indeed.
3. Holy Mutha Fuckin' Shit! (Although I'm working on phasing that one out due to sensitive ears.)

What is the worst job you’ve done? Carpet cleaning every primary & secondary school in my district during the summer holidays in University; kids are fucking disgusting.

If you could edit your past, what would you change? I would have liked to have stood up for myself a bit more; especially in high-stress situations. Also, I would never have let Jim drive away.

What is the closest you’ve come to death? I went into congestive heart failure due to severe edema 4 days after I had my twin boys. It was terrifying.

What do you consider your greatest achievement? Publishing 5 books.

When did you last cry, and why? I cry every Monday in the car. I crank my favourite music and think way too much... about everything.

How do you relax? Writing, with coffee in tow. It used to be painting, but I don't have a lot of time to do that lately.

What single thing would improve the quality of your life? Money.

What is the most important lesson life has taught you? Everyone is pretending. Be brave; say what you mean and have no regrets.

And so that's it for now; I hope it was enlightening. I'm not tagging anyone specifically - I feel it is like spreading syphilis. If you want to do these questions on your own blog, please do so - you know who I'm taking about. Yes - you! x

Barely, Curly & Flow

It always fascinated me how the dynamic of boys with each other and girls with each other is so drastically different when it comes to modesty. Most boys are exhibitionists - walking around with their bits hanging out after gym class. Girls? We have developed the fine art of completely undressing, drying off and re-dressing entirely cloaked under our over-sized towel - revealing nothing, even to our closest friends.

Our society and architectural constructs also encourage this divide. Boys have a single open room for undressing; girls have cubicles. For me, who had always been curious about other people, found this annoying - but I had to play along in order not to be labelled a "freak". I chose to keep my freak hidden from most.

Anyway, one night in grade 8, myself, my best friend and another girl were hanging out in my friend's basement. We were a pretty close trio - however it was my friend that was the common link. I didn't overly care for the other girl - she was probably the bossiest person I had ever met. If you told her the sky was blue, she's deny it just to argue with you. Since I despised confrontation, it wasn't the ideal chemistry for a lasting friendship.

Nevertheless, there we were - in my friend's basement. Thirteen and Bored.

I really cannot remember how the topic came up, but there it arose - pubic hair. It started off as a joke and then one thing led to another and before we knew it, all 3 of us had our pants around our ankles. We stood there - bottom half naked - inspecting each other's lady bits.

What we didn't expect was how different we actually were. It was fascinating - in a completely non-sexual way. My friend had a fair amount of pubic hair, but it was almost straight - like flowing straight; I wanted to comb it and put it in a ponytail. Whereas myself? I had the typical bush - auburn and curly. I had already had to have taken to mowing my coiffed cooter as young as 12 or else it got a little out of control. Think of Russell Brand's hair - but auburn - and on my vagina...

Out of control.

The third girl? She was practically bald. The grass was barely growing on the field and the players were still in the dugout. After I thought about it, it didn't really surprise me; she was often chastised by the boys for being as flat as an ironing board. She was just a late bloomer. We didn't care; it was just an interesting observation - nothing more.

So, of course, this sort of event was to be kept on the STRICT DOWN LOW. No one needed to know about what we had done - NO ONE. No matter how innocent it was, it wouldn't have mattered to the gossip mongers.

I was a professional at keeping funky weird shit like this a secret. A God damn seasoned pro, I was.

The very next school day, not 15 minutes into the day, I hear: "There's the Three Dykes! Ha,ha,ha!" and "Hey! It's the Lesbian Trio!"

What - the - fuck?

It lasted for weeks. WEEKS, I tell you! I was so embarrassed and intensely furious. I never did find out which of the two leaked the details of our weekend activities - because it sure as hell wasn't me. Luckily, we were fairly high up on the pecking order of pre-teen piranhas, so it didn't completely ruin our social lives. If we were, well, lower, it likely would have meant a social death by schoolyard crucifixion.

I recently corresponded with this friend - after many years of not seeing each other and having grown apart. The first thing she said to me was, "Hey there, Curly!"

"Hey there to you too, Straights!"

Me, Myself & Jeremy

This is a purely hypothetical conversation that I've never had with Jeremy London, casting myself as an agent-slash-scriptwriter. Although it's totally ridiculous logical, I thoroughly I believe that if he ever actually read it, he'd say, "Wow, Lady E, you hit the nail right on the proverbial head with this one; it's like we've had this conversation in a parallel universe."

Yes, Jeremy London; a parallel universe, indeed.

The café is dark; the burgundy walls are randomly littered with Gothic style paintings which hide the disrepair of the walls. The light is low - glowing from tiny teardrop lights that dangle above every table. Jeremy is already seated at a table against the far wall, drinking an iced tea and tweeting something from his phone. He's laughing at himself; he thinks everything he tweets is exceptionally clever.

Lady Estrogen: Hi Jeremy. We need to get you into one of my screen plays.

Jeremy London: It's nice to see you too. I have been busy, you know.

LE: Yeah, yeah. I don't mean TwitterPimp big; I mean BIG - like, Ferris Bueller big. (pause) You know... you would have been really good in that movie.

JL: I was only 14 when it came out.

LE: Fine. Whatever. It's not like we can go back in time and cast you in it anyway. Don't split hairs with me, Jeremy. (Waitress brings her cappuccino to the table. She looks up and smiles.) Thank you.

Waitress: You're welcome. (She looks at JL while talking to LE)

LE: Oh, please. (Waitress leaves) How about I write you in something like an action/adventure where you go searching for some lost, important artifact?

JL: Like Indiana Jones? Or Laura Croft?

LE: Dammit. I forgot about them. Hhhhhow about one where you have to destroy a meteor that's going to crash into the earth?

JL: Like Armageddon? Or Deep Impact?

LE: Fuck! This is harder than I thought. What about a couple of guys that just got dumped by their girlfriends and they wander aimlessly... let's say... around a mall, to search for meaning and redemption?

JL: You're an idiot. I've already done THAT one... over 15 years ago.

LE: Shit. I knew it sounded familiar. I have a lot of ideas, you know. I'm just scratching the surface.

JL: Was that supposed to be funny?

LE: I do try.

JL: It wasn't.

LE: Maybe you need to do something with some serious 'edge', ooooo, like 'The Cunt Dragon Slayer'.

JL: What the fuck is a Cunt Dragon? Besides, that word won't go over well; Hollywood is a cruel bitch.

LE: What? Slightly offensive, yet mythical creatures are forbidden but Kevin can do a movie with bestiality and discuss going ass-to-mouth?

JL: Yep. And look how well that one did.

LE: I guess so. It's still bullshit though. How about if it was an off-Broadway musical?

JL: No.

LE: Theatrical production?

JL: NO!

(LE pauses for a deep thought while JL takes the last sip of his drink and the ice rattles in the glass.)

LE: Can I take a photo of you holding a sign that says, "I Love Cunt Dragons"?

(Long pause; JL looks severely annoyed, unimpressed and deflated.)

JL: No.

LE: You disappoint me, Jeremy.

JL: Well, I have to get going. It's been...

LE: Fun? Enlightening? A pleasure, as usual?

JL: (Rolling his eyes) Yeah, sure.

(He gets up and starts walking away; leaving LE sitting at the table.)

LE: I still have big plans for you, ya know. (Raising her voice as he's exiting the café) BIG FUCKING PLANS, JEREMY!

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Part Two - The dramatic sequel can be read here.

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The Teddy Bear Diva

This is one of my favorite old photos of myself that I will share with you. It brings back a lot of memories for me, such as... 

1. It was taken in our first house, before my mom got re-married; it was our bachelorette pad.

2. Those elasticized sleeves were annoying as hell. They were really tight and felt like itchy, deflated personal flotation devices.

3. I loved my tutu. I loved all of my tutus. When I graduated to the level in ballet where we had to wear wrap around skirts instead of tutus, I was throughly disappointed.

4. Apparently, at the recital, I pushed the girl beside me off the stage because she wasn't doing the routine properly. If I was to re-enact the scene, it would have gone something like this:

"Pssst. You're not doing your Grand Plié right! You are making us look bad."

"Leave me alone. I'm trying to concentrate on my Demi Detourné."

"You're not succeeding. You suck. And so does your Port de bras."

"Waaaa. Stop picking on me. I'm only 5! I'm doing the best I can."

"I'm 5 too; that's no excuse. Your best just isn't good enough."

"I'm going to tell on you. You're mean!"

"That's not mean, honey. THIS is mean..." And then I give the silly little bitch a quick shove off the stage. She was cramping my style.

Besides, I'm pretty sure that I was destined to work center stage as a solo act, even if I did it in a tacky, brown polyester/satin blend costume, handmade by my mother. We all have to start somewhere, right? 

AGENT! WHERE'S MY AGENT?

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This post is for Monday Memory

Owe, My Blasphemer

I am a Catholic; I inherited it and sometimes like race or culture, it's not always what you may have chosen for yourself, but you embrace it with a certain amount of pride, often in spite of yourself. That's me and my religion, in a nutshell - we're very love/hate. There are a lot of things I think are VERY hypocritical about the Christian faith - but then again, I find equal amounts of hypocrisy in other religions as well. It's all ridiculous at times.

If I were to proclaim my true beliefs, it would be pretty much word-for-word based on the movie Dogma. "Do you believe?" "No. But I have a pretty good idea." Exactly, Kevin Smith, exactly indeed.

So, grade 8 was the last year that I attended Catholic school. During the final preparation Confessional for our Confirmation (which is kind of like a Bat Mitzvah, but way less celebrated and hardly any, if not no money or presents are received, dammit). I was sitting beside my best friend and due to extreme boredom, her mind started wandering.

My friend leaned over to whisper to me, "Jesus is kinda sexy."

I smiled. "Stop it."

"No. Seriously. Imagine if he actually looked like that? I'd do him."

I'm trying so fucking hard to contain myself. "Shhhhh. STOP."

"He's kinda got the tortured rock star thing happening - but with real torture. That's hot." And then she purred.

I was physically biting my tongue at this point. "Oh my God, please shut up. I'm going to piss myself, seriously!" I could tell she was in it for gold; she wanted me to lose it.

We get an evil glare from one of the teachers and a loudly whispered, "LADIES, SHHHHHH!"

She rolled her eyes back at the teacher and when the coast was clear, she continued, "I wonder how big his dick was. Do you think he ever masturbated?"

Now, I'm getting a headache from trying so hard to hold in my laughter. "I hate you."

"Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey: If you were having sex with Jesus and you yelled out, 'Oh, God' would that be like calling out his father's name during sex, or because of the whole Holy Trinity thing, would it just be like calling out his own name?"

The pressure was too much, but before I laughed, a fart escaped.
One single loud fart.

Then I laughed even louder, mostly to cover up the fart. My voice echoed through the whole church and everyone stopped to look at us. My friend was watching with euphoric delight at the spectacle I made of myself; I completely lost control. My head ached and my stomach hurt from tensing up my muscles for so long.

Of course, it was just me that got punished, as that same teacher pointed to only me with her long, bony finger and said one word: "OUT!"

I managed to make it through my actual Confirmation both laugh and fart free, but since that day, I could never look Jesus in the eyes - even if they were rolled back in his head.

On another note: I haven't been to Confession since that day - when I was still a virgin. Holy mutha fucking shit, I've got a lot of 'splainin' to do! Maybe I'll just give my priest a copy of my book and say, "Here - read this. I'll be back in 2 weeks to discuss. Thanks."

Introducing Flashback Friday

Firstly, go check out my guest post over at I'm Gonna Kill Him! Hooray!

OK. So this is a new feature I will be doing twice a month - well, that's the plan, anyway; I always have the best intentions.

I really didn't know what the hell I was doing when I first began this blog, so day after day, I rolled out some of my juiciest stories - and almost no one got to read them. In hindsight, I would have held my cards a little closer in my panties to my heart and been more selective on rolling out the goods. This girl's well is surely deep, but it ain't bottomless! What can I say? I've always put out too quickly. Wahh, wuhh, waaa.

So here's the deal:
I will do a quick 'n' dirty version (isn't that the best way regardless?) of a post from last year ever other Friday. I won't be doing a link-up, mainly because Life in a Pink Fibro has that covered with her fabulous Weekend Rewind. If you haven't checked that out, I highly recommend it.

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Friends with Benefits

Most people will say that the concept of "Friends with Benefits" is nothing but a myth. This is not true; it is actually possible, however rare, like an exotic endangered animal.

I was able to have a successful FWB arrangement with a close friend of mine during the summer of our final year in high school (and it continued off and on for about 6 years). There was an in-door pool, sauna, hot tub and a couple acres of land and forest. Mark and I ended up being the only 2 in the hot tub and were exchanging harmless sexual innuendos and banter, which was entirely normal for us... until I responded to one of his insults with the very original, “Screw You!” He laughed for a second and then stopped abruptly. While still smiling, he replied, “Alright.”

“Alright what?”

“Screw me.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me! Let’s do it.”

And we jumped out of the hot tub. There were a lot of people doing their own things at the party and no one noticed the two of us heading off into the woods.

There is one thing that I need to mention about the great Canadian woodlands...it is always fully stocked with mosquitoes...and they LOVE me. I was wearing a one-piece bathing suit, so in order to engage in some sexual liaisons, I had to get totally naked. My holiest of bits were on display for all the little blood-sucking insects to see. We managed to have a great little quickie that night; it wasn’t exactly the ideal setting for a slow, comfortable screw.

I did end up paying for it the next morning, however. The sex was fun, but there was not much quite as unpleasant than a half dozen giant itchy mosquito bites wedged up high between my butt cheeks, that was for certain!

3 Lies & A Good bye

My other grandfather always treated me with love and open arms. I was not his biological granddaughter, but you would never have known it; I was his bonnie lass from the moment he met me. Although he had been living in Canada since just after WW2, he would always thicken up his Scottish accent for my benefit. We loved to make each other laugh.

He was from that generation that didn't trust doctors; "They're all quacks!" he would say. I don't even know if he had ever been to a doctor during my lifetime - until he got sick. He was diagnosed with prostate cancer, but I was told it was slowly progressing and that he still had a few 'good years'. Having been reassured that this was the case, I didn't have any reservations leaving for my exchange program, which was going to be an entire year.

I was lied to; he was dying.

Most of my year was behind me when I got the phone call from my mother. 'Grandpa isn't going to make it until August when you come home. You will have to call and say good bye - this week would be best.'

I was furious. And devastated. How do you call someone that you love on the phone, knowing that they are going to die, and say good bye? That is exactly what I had to do.

I waited 2 days. I needed some time to process it all. I was only 17 - although I don't think it would have been any easier if I had to do it again tomorrow.

My grandmother answered the phone and she passed it to him; there was a long delay. His voice was weak and strained, 'Hello, my lass.'

'Grandpa. Hello. Mom tells me you aren't feeling well - what have you done now?' I tried to lighten the tone.

He laughed-coughed. 'Achh. Ya know how e'goes.' And then he quickly changed the subject, 'How has your trip been? We're all so proud of you.'

I began to cry at that comment. I had done a lot of things that I was less than proud of and I know I didn't deserve his sentiment. 'It's been amazing. I'm having the best time.'

I lied.

'Come now. Dunnie cry. It'll be fine; I will be....... just fine.' I knew he was out-rightly lying but we both knew what the purpose of this phone call was, so he continued, 'You just keep your chin up and make me a happy old man.'

'I'll do my best.' There was silence on both sides; I needed to take a few deep breaths. 'I love you, grandpa.'

'I love you too. I have to go now, love; I'm tired. Cheerio.'

'Good bye, grandpa.'

The line cut out. He died 3 days later.

When I should have cried...

but I laughed instead.

Since my Top Ten Tear Jerker list got a lot of you talking, I thought I needed to do this follow-up. You should be aware by now that I'm a huge snotty wreck when it comes to many, many movies. Now, on the contrary, here are two movies to which I found myself laughing instead of crying at the most pivotal moments. This is HUGE considering I cry at frickin' everything. Kudos to the lame acting and/or special effects that otherwise ruined intense moments.

1. Romeo + Juliet, 1996
OK, so I completely related to the whole 'desperate forbidden love' thing; oh do I ever! I love this movie. Love the manic-ness of it all, thanks to Baz Luhrmann's acid tripped interpretation of Shakespeare, BUT that final scene... when Claire Danes did that little yelp and made her face scrunch up all stupid-like, I laughed. I should have been a sobbing mess, but instead, I laughed. Dear Claire, You were dumb. That is all.

Look at that fucking Playdoh face!

2. Alive, 1993

OK, I was 15 when I saw this in the theatre, so I'm sure that had something to do with it. Why did I go see this in the theatre? I have no idea. When the plane ripped in half and people were getting sucked out the back, I laughed so hard... and so did my friends. I'm sure the elderly couple sitting behind us were utterly disgusted with us, but I just didn't buy it, probably thanks to early 90's special effects, I'm sure. Secondly, when he had to dig into his dead friend's frozen ass... I laughed again. This time, due to my toilet humor and thinking of the never-ending puns that could accompany this otherwise climatic scene of survival and humanity.

This tastes like ass!

Yes; yes it does. Giggle.

Dig in boys!

A long time ago, we used to be friends

This Monday's theme is Friends.

It's early. I haven't had my coffee or my Mini Eggs yet.

There are two songs that came to my mind almost immediately; so it is those two that I will share with you. Firstly, The Dandy Warhols, 'We Used To Be Friends'. I thought it was fitting both for today's theme and also because much of my blog is exactly about that - memories, friends and great loves that were at one point or another a huge part of my life.

A long time ago, we used to be friends

But I haven't thought of you lately at all

If ever again, a greeting I send to you,

Short and sweet to the soul is all I intend.

The second is a little less mainstream. Sadly, there isn't even an offical video and this is the only version I can find. O well. Enjoy the slideshow of completely unrelated imagery (landscapes of Western Australia) that in no way is a reflection of the song whatsoever. Meh. It's an awesome song. It's by an Australian DJ named simply 'Friendly'. The song is called 'I Love You But...(if you treat me like shit you can just fuck off)'. So I guess this is where I give warning that if kidlets are in the room, turn down the volume, kick them out or don't play it. Regardless, it's definitely one to get you up and dancing on an early Monday morning!

The "OTHER" Brother

I know it might sound slightly self-deprecating but I really didn't understand how I had so many guys paying attention to me while I was on my exchange. Was it my foreign alluuuure? Perhaps. Even then, Canada is far from exotic!

No matter. I had recently said good bye to Jim - 3 hours of my life I don't think I will ever truly get over; I was pretty messed up. I was meant to have moved to my last host family weeks before, but they had pulled out because they had heard I was some kind of social deviant, as told by my second host family from hell, the McFucks. A new family agreed to take me for the final 8 weeks of my year - a damn pain in the ass to move again with only 8 weeks left, but I didn't have any say in the matter.

The new family was wonderful, not to mention the dad was a professional photographer with a giant studio in the house. MOIST! He even took some fantastic photos of me - like glamor shots; I looked fucking HOT. (And before you read into anything: No, he wasn't a dirty old man; they were strickly on the up-and-up.) Maybe I'll post a couple some day... not any time soon though.

This lovely family had something else... a 15 year old son. Sure, he was very adorable but he was only fifteen! (I was edging closer to 18 at this point) I had absolutely zero attraction to him beyond the annoying little brother relationship that I "thought" we were forming... until the first night that he insisted on coming out with me for my nightly smoke before bed.

He stood outside with me in his jersey pajamas... pitching a tent the entire time! AAACK! Point that thing somewhere else, puu-leeze! It was difficult to avert my eyes, truly. I thought that involuntary reaction embarrassed guys but he was either oblivious or proud of his protruding package. After a couple days, I tried to convince him that it wasn't good for him to breathe in my smoke; it never worked and he wasn't taking any of my other oh-so-subtle hints.

In hindsight, I'm sure he was giving himself a pep-talk before every outing, "Tonight. I'll tell her tonight!" Ugh. I wince at the awkwardness of it all. He never did 'tell' me anything... until the last night before I moved back to Canada. I guess he figured he had nothing else to lose. Well, that is something I actually know how it feels - I can't penalize him too harshly. Ah-hem.

I got home at some ridiculous hour - probably 3am, I'm guessing. I had been partying with my friends all night and I was still pretty drunk when I stumbled down the hallway, passing his door. I tried to be quiet so to enjoy one last smoke by myself; one last night in Australia. He came out almost instantly; he must have been waiting.

SHIT.

After I was done, he followed me back inside and just as I was attempting a slurred, "G'nnnight" he pinned me up against the wall and stuck his tongue down my throat. I should also mention that he was tall, really tall. So while he was face raping me, his giant pocket sword was practically drilling a hole through his jersey pants and into my bellybutton! Wrong hole, honey, for real!

Was it his first 'real' kiss? I could only hazard a guess and say 'Yes'. He was gnawing my face as if he was trying to eat me as well as make out. It was bordering on painful; both physically and otherwise. In my intoxicated state, I surely let it go on longer than it should have, but even so, I think it was some of the longest and weirdest 10 seconds of my life.

Oddly enough, the family that pulled out from hosting me had two sons - 19 and 18. Maybe it was a good thing I didn't live there because apparently this Siren's song was hypnotizing as hell. Who knew?

If someone had told me all this was going to happen before I left, I would have called them a liar.

Who's a Lucky Girl?

Well, the results are in! Thank you so much to everyone who voted. Over 50% of the votes concluded that design "A" was the clear winner. Hooray! My funky vagina shone through - that makes me very happy. I worked hard on that stylized clit, for sure. I will have items in my shop with my latest design, along side the fabulous 'Rock My Blog' and infamous 'Cunt Dragon' items.
*cough* shameless plug *cough*

NOW FOR THE WINNERS!
1st PRIZE (Evolved™ Sweet Cheeks) goes to #9 - A Taste of T - You lucky girl!

2nd PRIZE (Evolved™ Bottle Rocket) goes to #21 - Jack in the Hat - Hooray!

  

I'll be in touch so I can get your prizes to you!

Thank you also to my fantastic sponsor, The Love Shop. You guys are awesome! I could have spent hours looking through your store. It's like Disney World, but for sex fiends... like me.

And just so this post isn't entirely formal business, I'll leave you with one of my favorite orgasm jokes:

A guy was sitting on a plane in first class and noticed this pretty blonde sitting by herself across the aisle. She was very good looking and was dressed to show off her shape, with a tight knit sweater and short skirt.

The guy is reading a magazine and he hears a dainty sneeze. He looks over and says, “Bless you.” She says thanks and then takes a tissue out of her purse. 15 minutes goes by and he hears her sneeze again and he says, “Bless you ” again. This goes on for a while and she sneezes every 10 or 15 minutes.

After this happens 5 or 6 times, he looks at her and before he gets a chance to say anything, she takes out a tissue, lifts up her skirt and wipes her lady bits. She catches him staring at her and she blushes a bit. She tells him she is sorry and is a bit embarrassed about the situation, but every time she sneezes, she has an orgasm.

He is amazed at this medical condition that he has never heard of and asks her if she is taking anything for it. “Oh yes”, she says with a smile, “a little black pepper!”

Why Wedding Dresses are like Cocaine

I was never a girlie-girl. When other girls were playing Hop-Scotch or Barbies, I was at the local pond catching frogs. My mother would occasionally sew me a dress and I would reluctantly wear it a couple times, although it was usually made for a particular event to which it was a necessity to wear it.

I was very good at ruining pretty things. I can even recall at my mother's wedding, I had ripped the lace hem clear off my flower girl's dress and my Aunt was frantically sewing it back on in the limo while I was completely hysterical. Shit! Dresses are so much maintenance! Too much.

So, when it came time to try on wedding dresses, I was not overly enthusiastic. My mother, nor any of my bride's maids were in the same country as I was at this point, so I went by myself to try on a couple... testing out the shark infested waters, so to speak. I went to this small shop in my local town and it was definitely a sensory overload when I walked in. The shop owner was a plump little Italian lady with an amusing Italian/Scottish accent. She must have immigrated to the UK at least 20 years ago.

You try this one.
And this one.
And maybe this one.

All three looked fucking hideous to me and she could tell I didn't look impressed. She flared her nostrils at me and said, "Oi! Just try them!"

And then she followed me into the changing stall.

Ack! What the hell was going on? I quickly figured out that these dresses weren't to be handled by anyone else but her. After my initial shock, I was OK with her being there. I have a poky Italian grandmother that's been coming in the change rooms with me since I was a kid, cupping my boobs and pinching my ass when she didn't like the fit of something on me; I was used to being molested by Italian women.

After she poured me into the first dress, which had a corset with highlighted boning and a flared skirt, I turned around to look in the mirror. My pupils dilated and my heart began to race.

I looked ridiculously fucking awesome!

The same thing happened with the other two dresses... and another two that I had found. I didn't hate any of them; it was just varying degrees of love. What was wrong with me? I was high on wedding dresses and I loved the feeling; I didn't want it to end.

I knew I would have to pace myself. I held off on getting another wedding dress fix for about three weeks. I was jonzing by that time and as I approached the next dress shop on my hit list, I felt my anticipation rising.

It didn't disappoint. Dress after dress after dress.

After my fourth euphoric dress-trying-on session, I knew I had to either piss or get off the pot. I had learned what I wanted by then and admitted to myself that I was getting a little too addicted to the whole process of it all. Those dresses were like cocaine... beautifully white and fluffy no matter the cut; I wanted to snort them all! I realised I had to quit cold turkey and just buy one already!

I suffered from withdrawals until the day came when MY dress arrived. It was mine for all eternity! [insert evil laugh here] The wedding day went by WAY too quick! Some days I want to just put it on to lounge around the house or do laundry in it. It was beautiful, elegant and GIRLIE, but at the same time, it was different and unconventional, just like me.

I was in love with my dress, along with matching bolero jacket (it was -13 degrees out) and my special ordered velvet navy blue Doc Marten's. Yes, you heard me right! There is a strong possibility that if they did a last minute Groom switch, I might not have even noticed!

So, you probably want to know which one I decided on, right? OK. Here you go.

    

The House of Ill Repute

Well, well, well... look who's ONE - It's Life & Times of a Self-Proclaimed Saucy Bitch's blogoversary this week! (And I thought MY title was a mouth full - apparently, we both like mouth fulls, so it's all good.)
Anyways, where was I?
ONE!
Oh, yeah! Hooray and congrats!
Then, I got a lovely little present in my in-box the other day from SaucyB telling me she wanted to share her shame on my site - words that always melt my heart, indeed. Share away, SaucyB, share away...

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

During my last two years of college, I lived in an off campus apartment with three of my best friends. We occupied the first floor apartment of a two-story house that was probably about a thousand years old and had the rotting pipes to prove it.

In the fall of my junior year, a bunch of cute guys moved into the second floor apartment. As we watched them unpack, we became increasingly intrigued by the “fresh meat” that had literally just landed on our doorstep.

While our interest was definitely piqued, we knew we’d be sharing close quarters with these guys and that it would be important for all of us to get along. Generally speaking, jilted lovers do not make for good neighbors. So in an effort to insure harmonious cohabitation, we decided there would be no hooking up with anyone in the house.

And then I met Steve. I swear on my Coach purse the first time I saw Steve he had just gotten out of the shower and was wearing nothing but a towel draped around his waist. With blond hair, a great tan and a killer body, I was immediately attracted to our new neighbor in a 'pass me a new pair of panties' kind of way.

That night, after the guys were done moving in, they came downstairs to hang out and we all started drinking. Being the flirt that I was, I sought Steve out and struck up a conversation.

After chatting with him for awhile, I determined that Steve didn’t have much going on in the personality department, but I didn’t really care. At the time, I recall telling a friend that my pursuit of Steve was kind of like a hunter going after a great stag. He was pretty much the equivalent of a trophy kill for my metaphorical wall.

Eventually, while everyone else was in the backyard, Steve and I slipped away and went in my bedroom. We started kissing and in a word, it was “ok.” He wasn’t the best kisser, but I figured I’d give him a pass for hotness. We messed around for awhile and once things had gone as far as I generally allowed, I told him we’d better go back outside. I explained about the pact with my roommates and the need to go into stealth mode so I didn’t get found out.

The only problem was, I could hear voices in the living room right outside my bedroom door! Not wanting give away that I had blown our “no hooking up in the house pact” within 48 hours of it being made, I told Steve he had to go out my bedroom window. The front porch was on the other side, so he just had to climb out and walk in the front door.

Except when he was already about half way out of the window, we discovered one of the guys was sitting on the porch having a cigarette. So much for secrecy!

Eventually, one of my roommates hooked up with another one of the guys too. But my trailblazing earned me the nickname “Jezzy, a.k.a Jezebel” for an entire semester.

Top 10 Tear Jerker Flicks

Alright, so one thing you may or may not have gathered from my posts is that I'm VERY emotional. No shit, right? Yes, I am. However, my hyper-emotional states were usually confined to the privacy of my room, wailing into my pillow, except during movies; the soppy ones can sure get me going. My husband enjoys laughing at me and is constantly amazed at just how 'into it' I really get. I'm talking full out snotty weeping.

"You know it's not real, right?" Yeah, thanks for that insight, dickhead. He is afraid to see the final Harry Potter with me this summer because of the spectacle I will probably surely be making of myself.

Me: "But I thought you enjoy watching me become a blubbering idiot!"
Hubs: "Yes! In the privacy of our own home; not in public."
Me: "Too bad, it's going to be messy; I can tell you that right now."

On that note, here are the Top 10 movies that I could barely see through the continuous stream of tears that were pelting down my face. The volume usually has to be cranked in order to hear over my sobs and sniffles!

10. Edward Scissorhands - I love Johnny Depp in this movie so much. The last 20 minutes are tears of anger and apathy all rolled into one giant snotty wad of tissues.

9. Moulin Rouge! - Ewan McGregor singing: "I will love you until my dying day." 'Nuf said.

{Disney}

8. Little Mermaid - She NEVER gets to see her father ever again! That prince better give her the best damn head EVER, now that she permanently went and got herself a vagina.

7. The Color Purple - I'm not sure which part gets me the most, the sad tears when her sister leaves or happy ones when she gets to finally meet her children; it's too close to call.

6. Beaches - The love of their friendship is amazing and heart-breaking; Bette Midler is perfection in this movie, but I know that's not exactly a groundbreaking observation.

5. Ghost - I'm sure it's in most people's top 5, but how can it not? "The love inside - you take it with you." Ah guh!

4. Big Fish - This reminds me of my grandfather so much that I think they stole his stories; he was an amazing story teller and it's really hard for me to watch the end of this movie, regardless of how great they filmed it.

3. Fine Things (Danielle Steel) - This might not be a popular one, but if you've seen or read it, you will know! It's a pure roller coaster of emotions. My mother and I went through almost an entire box of kleenex during this made-for-TV movie.

2. P.S. I Love You - I'm sure the writers sat around and thought: How can we make a movie where people (women) will cry not just at the end, but every 10 minutes for the entire duration? We know! Let's have her read a whole bunch of letters from her dead husband spaced throughout the whole movie. The bastards got me - hook, line and sinker.

1. Field of Dreams - He gets to play catch with the ghost of his dead father; are you fucking kidding me? I'm crying just thinking about it. All my hubby has to do is yell out "FIELD OF DREAMS" and my eyes fill up faster than a freshman's beer funnel on a Friday night; he thinks it's hilarious. Damn dead daddy issues... they get me every time.

Don't Drown in the Shallow End

The one huge fall back from online dating is the whole notion of meeting someone AFTER you've already made some kind of emotional connection. The odds of them living up to all that you have orchestrated in your imagination is slim to none. At least with blind dates, you'd have no preconceived ideas upon what to expect.

One of my potential suitors was an absolute fire cracker online. His personality really shone through on Messenger and he was awesome at distracting me from work with hilarious stories and dirty jokes. I didn't mind; I hated that job anyway.

I had at least 10 photos of myself on my online profile, from all angles and all stages of intoxication. TEN. I wasn't hiding anything. I never understood why one would even want to falsely advertise themselves. Dumb.

The time had come for Mister Cool Guy to pick me up for our first "date". OK, so he was a bit of a red neck and he picked me up in his equally red pick-up truck AND was taking me to a motor-cross event, but at least he was a slightly educated red neck with a good job... and he smelled great.

Actually, he was pretty damn hot...
except for the look of disappointment on his face when I opened the door. It was pretty obvious; I tried to pretend I didn't see, but I did.

What I SHOULD have done was scrape up my self esteem off the front porch and tell him a swift "Adiós" but I didn't. Did he not closely inspect my vast array of photos to which the end result would be avoiding this very situation?

The entire way to the event, we were just like we were online - our banter back and forth was so fantastic! We were both having a great time, or so I thought. Once we got to the event, he pretty much dropped me like a fucking bad habit and took off with his buddies.

The part that pissed me off the most was that we obviously had great chemistry. I'm not saying he could have been "the one" because he surely wasn't THAT great, but at the least we could have had some really good times together and most likely some wicked sex. He had one of those nicely tanned muscular torsos that I just wanted to run my fingernails up and down. It's too bad he was so horribly disgusted with my ghastly physical appearance (that's heavy sarcasm by the way; I think I'm awesome) that his shallowness caused him to miss out on getting to know a really cool girl – me!

...aaaand I never heard from that guy again.

A Proper Bitch & Moan

I haven't done a proper bitch & moan for quite a while, so I think it's about that time.

FUCK YOU
To the mothers who stand at the end of the street while their YOUNG children are playing on the construction site next door to us. What is wrong with you? Do you think it is a jungle gym? I think not! Wires, nails, exposed concrete re-enforcing steel rods... need I go on?

FUCK YOU
Government. You give me $2400 a year for the "Universal" Childcare benefit, but then tax my ass on it and tell me to give you back $716. Why can't you deduct the tax BEFORE and just give me the $1684. It's a win - win, because I'll tell you what: You give it to me and I'll use it. I don't have $716 lying around to give to you and now I have to figure out a way to come up with this money. Does anyone know how much kidneys are going for these days?

FUCK YOU
To the people that have littered in the forest. I've seen a lot of crap being left behind - mostly coffee cups, beer bottles - that kind of shit, but THIS? Really? With coffee cups, etc, it means that one was walking through the forest and couldn't be bothered holding on to their trash until they go home. THIS? This means someone actually went out of their way to lug it to the forest! What the fuck? It would have been a lot less effort to drag it to the end of your drive way; the garbage truck would have gladly taken it away.

And finally,
FUCK YOU
To getting sick... again. This is at least the 6th time I've been sick in the past few months. It seems like I'm sick more times than I'm healthy.
Fuck you snot.
Fuck you phlegm.
Fuck you cold chills.
And fuck you too, lethargy.

My Inner Self

Over the years I have had random thoughts and hypothetical conversations with various people about what would I be like if I was born a man - never with any concrete conclusions though - since they usually took place whist extremely intoxicated. Finally, I want to settle this question once and for all.

Since I was little, I have always struggled with my femininity. It's completely different for girls that claim to be "tomboys" when they've got pretty curves underneath their overalls, it really is. I have an athletic build; my father's build – he was a hockey player. There's no curves; I'm a solid fucking brick. I often heard, "Oh sweety, if only you were a boy, it would have been easier for you."

Yeah. Thanks for that!

Humm... if I wasn't good at being girlie, did that mean maybe I was a lesbian? So I went and got me some of that.

Nope.

Don't get me wrong. It was completely erotic and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I experimented about a half dozen times in total (after all, I DID go to Art School), but every time, something felt weird - like I was missing the grand finale jack-hammering male penetration at the end.

Yes. I love men.

So, just like I've known many men that claimed to be a "lesbian trapped in a man's body", perhaps I am a homosexual trapped in a woman's body. But I'm still lacking in the femininity department, so I couldn't live up to the stereotypical gay guy that is light on his feet and had been trying on his mother's heels since he was 5. I am so NOT Chris Colfer!

I'd have to be the butch guy, most definitely. 

I make dirty jokes that have actually made grown men gag, true story. I don't wear heels. I like it rough, tough and unshaven but not ridiculously built either; I prefer a little cushion for the pushin'. I don't like muscle freaks, nor do I have the dedication to achieve that physique anyway. I'm lazy.

So, yes - obviously I wasn't born a man, but I finally figured out who is inside me - Guillermo Díaz, that's who!

I'm like one of those aliens from "V" - except under my alluring female skin, there exists a cool, butch Latino man that loves other men.

I'm OK with that; just don't tell my husband. He'd much prefer if I had Keira Knightley inside me.

Perhaps; I just might have eaten her for lunch.

{Pinups Magazine}

Lady Estrogen's Rebuttal

If you happened to have already read my husband's debut on my blog, then you're ahead of the game. If you didn't, I recommend reading it first... or don't... but this post will be MUCH more amusing if you have.

Dear Sir Testie,

You say that I have a lot of ideas, and this much is true. I often find it hard to sleep because I cannot shut off my brain. My friend told me this week that the movie Limitless is based on me – and I haven’t seen it so I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment. If I won the lottery, oh, the awesome things I would/could do! Whenever I have a new idea, just remember that the question isn't "what are we going to do," the question is "what aren't we going to do?"

Also, I cannot deny that I love shopping. My pupils dilate and my heart races when I’m on a roll. The one thing that annoyed me is when you said I burn through YOUR pocks... hum... I have my own money, thank you very much... I get it from grandma. I recently bought a purple leather crocodile-textured wallet to match my purple purse & purple blackberry. It is so choice. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up.

Directions? Shmections. I have a fucking GPS... and I married YOU. You, the all wise and powerful transportation engineer. What more could I possibly need? I know where the grocery store is; I turn right at the big thingy and then left at the next thingy! I think you’re more annoyed by the fact that when you have to pick up the boys from daycare, I get your sweet ride for the day; its name is 'Precious'. I can’t leave any indications that I’ve used the car, which includes empty coffee cups or receipts. A man with priorities so far out of whack doesn't deserve such a fine automobile.

Do I enjoy talking? O.K. You got me there as well. It’s a good thing you don’t or else we’d be constantly talking over each other. You just sit there and nod your head when I’m going off on a tangent – and I’m fine with that; I don’t like being interrupted. I meant to tell you! Oh My God, did you hear? My best friend's sister's boyfriend's brother's girlfriend heard from this guy who knows this kid who's going with the girl who saw Ferris pass out at 31-flavors last night; I guess it’s pretty serious!

And finally, I think I’m smart? Hell, I know I’m smart! I recently joined the Union of Disgruntled Over-Educated Underemployed Bitches (UDOUB) and I think that says it all... besides, who is this Bueller that you speak of? I have no idea what you’re talking about and how does this relate to our discussion of the uses of irony?

My darling, my husband, you're a beautiful man. I want to thank you for your warmth and compassion.

That is all.

Yours truly,
Lady Estrogen
a.k.a. Cunt Dragon, a.k.a. Venus Fry Cook

She's So Pretty

I have been friends with my bestie since we were seven years old. We were both in love with Paul and we fought over him. Oh, Paul! Even though I TOTALLY WON, I have never let another Mister come between me and my sister - it's just the way it's been ever since. I guess it helps that we have completely different tastes in men as well. She preferred the poorly, straggly ill-looking guys that were meant to grow into even more straggly rock stars, or so it seemed. Whatever floated her boat; it was all good - except when she was dating a guy that looked like a heroin-addicted version of Jesus. That was too much, sorry!

My friend is beautiful, even as a young girl. To counter-balance her beauty, she is, however, less versed in the ways of logic and street smarts. Whenever she would say something that was less than stellar in the intellect department, we would say, "Ah well, she's so pretty!" My own mother was one of the most guilty parties of doing this to her.

Anyway, she came with me the second time I moved to Australia. For the most part, we got along no problem... until we started travelling around the country together.

After 3 long, long weeks of making sure she had all her belongings (to which the answer was usually NO) and insuring she didn't loose her passport, wallet, money, clothes, mind, etc, etc... I was fucking exhausted. I never needed a vacation from my vacation so desperately as I did that month.

We were on the home stretch approaching Sydney when the coach had pulled into a rest area for a very brief stop. There was time to line up for the toilet or line up for food, but not both. Dammit! I wanted both. I ordered my food and had my friend wait in my place while I went to the bathroom. I was given a number - 68; it was underlined so one knew how to read it, like a shoe size, right? Got it? Good.

I had exited the kitchen area when I heard "SIXTY EIGHT". I quickly glanced through the mesh door to see if she was making a motion to claim my order. Nothing.

"SIXTY EIGHT?"

Still nothing.

Oh my god, I had to fucking pee so badly! I ran back in and YELLED at my friend,  "What the fuck?" She was starring off into oblivion thinking of lord only knows. I snatched the ticket from her hand; I was furious... and almost wetting my shorts to top it off. I quickly grabbed my food and turned around to give my friend the death stare.

"What? I was listening, I swear! I never heard her call out Eighty-Nine. Gawwd!"

She's soooo pretty!

Designer Orgasms Contest

It's finally here! When I was cured of my depressingly LONG 18 month dry spell, I wanted to shout it from the roof tops. As a matter of fact, I kind of did; you can read about The Great Eruption of 2011 here. 

Anyways, days after I purged my hot-and-bothered-ness, I still had Orgasms on the brain, and really, how could I not? 18 MONTHS, PEOPLE! I had my Illustrator open and I started playing with Orgasm designs. I was having so much fun and I knew I'd have to put one up in my shop. Well, I'm now torn between 3 and I need YOUR help choosing the final design.

You may or may not notice that they are all, in fact, still referencing my logo with the splat. Its primary function is to be an INK splat, but when I change the colour, it can sure read as different things.

White? Bird shit. Not cool.
Green? Boogers. Still not cool.
Orange and/or yellow? Barf. Gross!

Brown? Poop or Chocolate. Funny, but still questionable.

Pink? Well... you get the idea! Perfection.

Considering it was the joint efforts of hubby and Mr. Purple that helped me achieve my elevated level of consciousness, I felt that the only suitable prizes for this contest would be some sexy toys. My good friends over at The Love Shop graciously offered a fabulous Evolved™ Sweet Cheeks vibrator and the most adorable Evolved™ Bottle Rocket as a second place prize!

So, after all that jibber jabber, it's really simple.

VOTE for your favorite Orgasm design to WIN!

**A**

**B**

**C**

PLEASE be sure to type in your favorite design inside your linky entry.

(A, B or C) See my example:

MAY THE BEST LUCKY FOOL WIN!