Twins at Nineteen

Jan 30, 2011


This is a re-post from May 2010. I felt it really needed to be re-posted, as it deserves two rounds of props. ONE for surviving twins at the ripe old age of 19; and TWO, because when I first had the idea to start this blog, she submitted her story almost immediately. I originally thought this blog was going to function more like a women's collective, but as it turns out, "good intentions" don't produce posts, (even with my closest friends) and I sure experienced a whole lot of good intentions last year. To be honest, I didn't think I'd be sharing THIS many of my own stories, but after about 40 personal posts, I thought "Holy shit, maybe I do have a lot to say!" But this post, this story, it's one that came to my mind as one that I really wanted to have told even before I started blogging; one of the reasons I started in the first place. This is not a blog about being a mom, but rather how we, as women, got there - THE JOURNEY; the crazy, hysterical, bizarre, heart-breaking and often fucked up journey! When I first posted it, I think I had 2 readers, one being myself. From one twin mama to another, I sincerely thank you for actually following through and sharing your story with me and with my readers - which should hopefully be more than 2 this time around. :)

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Looking back, I never thought my life was very interesting…it was tough but I think everyone has their own set of issues to deal with. Mine started at the ripe old age of 16; high school, grade 10. In walked the new kid, handsome and mysterious… and lots of girls I knew thought so too. I introduced myself and 2 weeks later, we were dating. I remember that he asked me to marry him when I was 17 he was 19. It was sweet and we always knew we’d be together forever, so that was never a concern, but who knew our lives were about to change dramatically.

We had been together for 3 years and guess what…. I got pregnant. I was 19, and scared shitless. I think the moment where I had to tell him was the most frightening (at the time). We talked about it and realized that there was no possible way we could have a child. We were just too young and immature; we had nothing. I remember I must have gotten pregnant sometime in February, because I was about 10 weeks along when I went to the ultrasound…by myself. Sounds depressing right? My theory on that was I didn’t want anyone else to have to see the baby that I was going to abort.

So sometime in May I headed out to the ultrasound, got suited up and the technician put the “goo” on my belly. I remember that moment like it was yesterday; it’s etched in my brain so clearly that I can still feel the tears pour down my face as the technician very clearly said, “OH MY GOD, IT’S TWINS!”

It is amazing how 5 simple words in the English dictionary seem so harmless on their own, but when they are put together to form that one sentence, they can change your life so dramatically. It felt like a thousand knives stabbing me all over at once, and then I felt empty. Countless different scenarios went through my brain within about 5 seconds, but it always went back to the same one, “How am I going to raise twins?”

The technician printed off three pictures of the babies for me. As I drove over to my boyfriend’s house, still crying, I held onto the photos. I actually remember that he was in the upstairs bathroom and as I walked through the door I could see him at the top of the stairs. He saw that I was crying and asked me what was wrong. I opened my mouth to speak but absolutely nothing came out. Still clutching the photos, I walked up the stairs and handed them to him. If you’ve ever seen a twin ultrasound, it very clearly says “Twin A” and “Twin B”. If I could have paused and relived a moment in my life, it would have been this one. It’s truly amazing how two people can look at one another and know exactly what the other is thinking without saying a word.

And so began the rest of our lives. That was May; we were married in July, and the twins were born in September. (By the way, we’ve never called them “the twins”) My husband started college the month the babies were born– you want to talk stress??? Holy crap! I was 19 years old, in a two bedroom apartment, raising twins (and nursing them) while my 21 year old husband was in school. Nightmare! We had so much help from family and friends to make it through the tough times… and we sure had our share of them. I like to think of our story as rags to riches (we aren’t rich), but we definitely worked hard to get where we are today. Mostly thanks to my husband; he worked so very hard all of those years to make our lives better. I am now a thirty two year old mom of 12 year old twins and I wouldn’t trade my life for anyone’s.

I’ve been asked this question before: “If you had a chance to do things differently, would you?” And here’s the answer, “Hell no.” Why? Because if you have ever experienced the incredible feeling you get when you look into your children’s eyes and say to yourself, “What was I doing before I had you? I can’t remember what my life was like when you weren’t in it.” To me, that means they were always supposed to be here; that’s just the way it was meant to be.

The Answers You Desire

Jan 28, 2011


OK. I had enough explanation that I though I might as well make a follow-up post about it. If you haven't read my Ugliest Award... Ever acceptance post, please do so BEFORE you read this one - or else it will be like you're just flipping to the back of the text book for the answers... CHEATER.

I also have to say that despite my best efforts to thwart everyone, ONE person (@SAHMlovingit) guessed correctly, dammit! I was so impressed that she'll be getting a 'Rock My Blog' tshirt care of moi. I will also be picking a random winner from my February Music Blog Hop (starting on Tues, Feb 1) for either a tshirt or a bag, so stay tuned.

The truth, yo!

1. I've had sex in the wheelchair bathroom stall of a McDonald's.
Never! Almost everything about a public toilet completely grosses me out. I could totally relate to Paul Finch in American Pie when he would go all the way home at lunch just to drop a deuce. 

2. I have a substantial tattoo that represents my first love on the back of my neck.
Nope, but I almost did. The next one I'm getting "sort of" has a smidgen of a reference to my first love, but it's mostly about people in my life that I love and/or have loved.. in general... and it will be on my shoulder. 

3. I was stoned and ended up having a 3-way with a girl friend of mine and our literature professor.
Not even remotely close. I did, however, lust after my literature professor; he was a little on the short side, but still HOT nevertheless. I gave him a manuscript of my first book to read and then he moved to California. I always wondered if he ever read it.

4. Grail Lore is my hobby and I wrote a 50 page dissertation on the Third Crusade.
You bet your bottom dollar I did! I thought that since I started this one with an Indiana Jones quote that no one would think this was correct, but alas, I am a medieval geek at heart. In my defense, no matter how much I love Grail Lore (and Arthurian Legend), it was the dullest and most painful 50 pages I've ever written!

5. I have an IQ of 163 but I use my grand IQ to decide what color lip gloss to wear in the morning.
My IQ is definitely higher than Forrest Gump, but no where near that high; this is based on a quote from Heathers, which @SAHMlovingit ALSO got. She rocked my balls on getting that as well! My husband made the tragic error in sending me an IQ test once. I score 6 points higher than him and those 6 little points will ALWAYS be a festering splinter in our marriage. He even got me to take another different test, and the results were the same. Fucking chauvinistic male pride, seriously.   

The Ugliest Award... Ever!

Jan 27, 2011

My friend over at Doing It All For Alenya felt the incessant need to pass on this fantastically hideous award to me, thanks for that! This Memetastic Award was created by Jillsmo over at Yeah. Good Times. and I thought, what the hell is that? OK, so I looked up meme over at Wiki and I have to pass on this section, as I had to laugh out loud - I thought it was odd and random:

"The British scientist Richard Dawkins coined the word "meme" in The Selfish Gene (1976) as a concept for discussion of evolutionary principles in explaining the spread of ideas and cultural phenomena. Examples of memes given in the book included melodies, catch-phrases, fashion, and the technology of building arches."

It was the last one that killed me... building of arches? WTF? HA! This award is even more warped that I originally thought - awesome! I should also re-confirm that it truly is the ugliest graphic, considering I design this kind of shit full time, I can honestly say that it's a crime against all good taste and principles of aesthetics; the Comic Sans was only the beginning!

Here are the rules:

1. You must proudly display the absolutely disgusting graphic for these purposes (put it in your post, you don't have to put it in your sidebar, I think that would seriously be asking too much). It's so bad that not only is it written with COMIC SANS, but there's even a little fucking jumping, celebrating kitten bear down there at the bottom. It's horrifying! But its presence in your award celebration is crucial to the memetastic process we're creating here.
2. You must list 5 things about yourself, and 4 of them must be bold-faced lies. Just make some shit up, we'll never know; one of them has to be true, though. Of course, nobody will ever know the difference, so we're just on the honor system here. I trust you. Except for the 4 that you lied about, you lying bastards!
3. You must pass this award on to 5 bloggers.
4. This one isn't actually a rule, but once you do the above, please link up to the Memetastic Hop so that we can keep track of where this thing goes. 

NOW, without further adieu, here are 5 things that may or may not be about me! Can you guess which one is true?

1. I've had sex in the wheelchair bathroom stall of a McDonald's.
2. I have a substantial tattoo that represents my first love on the back of my neck.
3. I was stoned and ended up having a 3-way with a girl friend of mine and our literature professor.
4. Grail Lore is my hobby and I wrote a 50 page dissertation on the Third Crusade. 
5. I have an IQ of 163 but I use my grand IQ to decide what color lip gloss to wear in the morning.

OK. Now, like the last cyber-chain-linked award I had to pass on, I now pass this one on to 5 of my fellow nearest and dearest bloggesses (is that right?). If you don't choose to pass it on, it's your choice, I don't mind either way. Me? I'm fucking weak and superstitious as hell so I must pass it on. Sorry bitches! Love youuu! xx



My Politically Incorrect Phobia

Jan 26, 2011

PhotobucketPicture it: It was a soggy Melbourne winter night in 2000. I had just gotten off work at the dinner theatre where I was bartending and I was waiting for the tram to go home - the last tram of the night. It was cold and I was tired and a bit zoned out when the tram finally glided to a stop in front of me. The doors opened and I briefly looked up just in time to see a tiny flash of red glitter slip and fly on to me. It was a midget, oh sorry, a little person and she had slipped ass over tit from a combination of a wet floor and what looked like 6inch platform heels.

WHAM! Right on top of me!

Her chunky legs practically straddled my torso while I was laid out on the pavement in a pool of rain water mixed with dirt, oil and god knows what else; knowing Melbourne on a Saturday night, probably an additional splash or two of urine. She quickly got up and was equally embarrassed as I was traumatized, "Sorry, luv!"
I managed to mutter a fake, "No worries" as I peeled myself off the street.

But it WAS a worry - a big fucking worry! That was the beginning of the end. I was already iffy about little people due to a strange love/hate relationship I had with a guy that was 5foot nothing (which is a whole other story I'll be getting to later this year), but this incident set me over the edge.

Thus, I am terrified of little people.

There. I said it.

I don't like watching them on TV either; I get very uncomfortable.

If I see one in person, I try to act normal, but I usually hold my breath for some fucked up reason. It's not because I think they smell, but I'd like to think it prevents me from hyper-ventilating.

My family and friends are aware of this quirk and absolutely LOVE to point them out to me in public. Yeah, thanks for that... love you too, jack asses.

I'm sure some will misconstrue my phobia as me just being a bigot or some shit like that - well, what the hell would you have me do? I am what I am, and that just happens to be someone who would likely pee my panties if a little person came up to me and gave me a hug. Sorry!
A Mother Life

Nothing Says Happy Birthday like Mushroom Cookies

Jan 24, 2011

For my 'big' 21st birthday, my university roommates threw me one of their legendary parties. I say 'big' with a hint of sarcasm because even though turning 21 in Canada doesn't mean shit, we celebrate the U.S. tradition and for some reason, 21 is therefore a big deal to us as well. I never really got it - it's not even an even number - jeez! (Read about My O.C.D. to get that joke) Regardless, I was getting a big 21st send off.

Their parties were awesome because they were usually themed parties and surprisingly, I would say 95% of guests complied with the alloted theme. I was amazed at the effort that had gone in to some of the costumes, even from the "too cool for school" type of guys. The question was what theme to have for MY party? Meh. What does Stephanie like... that we haven't already done... it was tough, and then we got it - Mushrooms! It was true, I was a massive mushroom fan. So instead of a costume party where everyone got drunk, they could wear what they wanted and hallucinate their asses off instead. We thought that adding a funky costume element with props and bright colours might pose as a serious "bad trip" risk, so no costumes.

Since I lived with a drug dealer, even offering to pitch in financially for 'the goodies' was fruitless. Having one roommate that dealt and the other that loved to bake yielded the result of some super bad ass mushroom cookies. In true form, we whipped up a few batches of weed cookies too. Eat your fucking heart out Martha! They were fantastic. The problem was NOT to eat too many. One. Two. Three TOPS. And then you would be flying happy and free.

I had invited Mark to the party, to which our very successful 'friends with benefits' arrangement was going strong. He had been up to visit me a few times for a roll in the sack, so most people knew him already.

Mark - never - did - drugs - for - a - reason.

The party was in full swing and it was packed. Living in a dealer's house sure made one popular, but I wasn't complaining. It was a great night and the buzz from the mushroom cookies was less intense that having them straight, which was a good thing considering I had to be somewhat sociable at this party. It was like a slightly stronger body buzz than one would get from say, hash brownies; I was lovin' it.

My eye caught Mark scarfing down some cookies. I pushed my way over to him and he was laughing. Through a mouthful of cookie, he mumbled, "I think I'll be fine since they're in food... totally, ya, I'll be fine!" I quickly replied, "How many have you had?" "I dunno. A couple of these and 5 or 6 of those other ones. They're awesome!" He pointed over towards the weed cookies; I told him he was screwed. I shook my head and walked away - but I needed to keep slight tabs on him since I would be requiring his washboard stomach and penis later on that night.

About an hour later, a girl came up to me and with an awkward smile, she said, "I think your boyfriend is dead." So I knew it wasn't serious, but I followed her to the bottom of the stairs and there was Mark - lying belly up on the middle landing with his head handing over the top stair. He actually did look dead, apart from the incessant snoring that his mouth was producing. He was 100% KO'ed and it took 2 other guys to peel him off the floor and into my bedroom. Years after that night, people would still ask me how the "Man of Death" was doing, and I knew exactly who they were talking about.

Considering the fact that we were just friends, I couldn't really get mad at him; he was just an idiot that night. Needless to say, I didn't get my Mushroom Birthday Sex that I was so looking forward to, but he did make it up to me... eventually ;)

We'll always have the postbox

Jan 21, 2011

There were really 2 childhood sweethearts in my life – some would quickly say it was “typical” for me, but there were unique circumstances. As I have already mentioned Paul, which would be the first of the two, but our timeline was made up of isolated meetings that spanned over a decade. The more ‘traditional’ sense of the concept of a childhood sweetheart was with Kevin. Oh Kevin!

He was the only boy in the 3rd grade that weighed more than I did – although there was no way in hell anyone but me knew that factoid – and I don’t think that was why I took a shine to him, but it did help. He was slightly awkward and quiet but extremely intelligent and had a fantastically mature and dry sense of humour. I think I was one of the few kids that understood his quirkiness – and there were definitely no other girls that I had to compete with for his attention; most of the girls all liked Justin or Kyle – both of which were your typical good looking jock-asshole-in-training type of boys. These boys, of course, were also the 2 that would make fun of my weight whenever possible – those little fuckers. Yeah, the other girls could have them!

Kevin never said anything mean – to me or to anyone. He was genuinely a nice boy and I was hooked. By the 4th grade, we had become fairly close. Of course, my sexual feelings were far more advanced than what he was probably thinking, but that was OK with me. I had my little fantasy world to go home to, in which I would imagine taking things ‘further’ in my own way. In reality, I just really enjoyed spending time with him after school... almost every day. It was the best time of the day and I looked forward to it every afternoon and some days I wouldn’t get home until after 5 o’clock, welcomed by my unimpressed mother. I can’t remember what we managed to talk about for that long, but it was fantastic. 

No one else in our grade really socialized with members of the opposite sex – that were not related anyway – we were the only ones. Even though we never kissed or even held hands, we were the unofficial ‘couple’ in our class. If we ever had to do any boy-girl partner activities in class, it went without saying that we would be together. The other kids would joke about us and surprisingly, he didn’t care – and it didn’t deter him from continuing our after-school meetings by the postbox. 

It continued for another year – 3 years with the same crush when you are 11 is like an eternity! Most of my friends had cycled though at last 3 or 4 crushes by then, but I had remained faithful to my feelings for Kevin. Then, the unimaginable happened... our school was too small for the population and we would be getting a new school. We were being allocated according to where we lived, with the main street down the middle of our town acting as the dividing line. I lived on one side and Kevin lived on the other! I begged my parents to move. I was hysterical and angry at the thought that we would be split up. It would mean no more after-school time, ever.

So, the move inevitably happened and I was dragged kicking and screaming to the new school which was just horrible without Kevin; I was stuck with the jock-assholes-in-training instead. I was resigned to only seeing him at sporting events and Friday night skating, which even that was only in the winter, but I took what I could get. He usually played hockey before the free skate, so I would go early and sit with his father. For those 3 wonderful hours every Friday, I got to spend time with either him or his family – which was the same thing in my mind. 

Years went by and we went to different high schools as well. Our special ‘thing’ was pretty much a distant memory to most – although still to this day, I can recite his entire address, postal code and phone number. I would mail him a birthday card every year, no matter what.

We had 1 bizarre encounter in grade 12 when we were both incredibly intoxicated at a Christmas Hockey party that his team was hosting. Late in the night he found me, or rather, he practically fell on me and put his arm around me. With shamefully slurred speech he asked me, “So, why didn’t we ever fuck?” I just laughed and replied, “I don’t know, babe, we totally should have!” I doubt he remembers that gem of a moment ever happening, but it surely did.

He recently got married last summer and the funny thing is that although I am sort of happily married with 2 children, I found myself experiencing a tingle of jealously when I saw the wedding photos on facebook – no matter what, he will always be MY Kevin - and that skinny bitch totally stole him from me ;)

Don't Dildo & Drive

Jan 19, 2011


When I was 20, I had just moved out of my super conservative parents' house & was living on my own for the first time. I had always been mostly well behaved & lived with the morals that my parents instilled in me, but once I moved out, I took a rapid turn toward slutty town.

That summer, I went on vacation by myself to visit friends and family who lived several hundred miles north of me. While I was there, I came across a store in a mall that sold some adult toys & paraphernalia. At the time, it seemed so naughty & shocking, but in my life since then I've discovered that it was actually fairly tame in comparison to many others.

While I was in the store, I decided to buy my best girlfriend back home (she was both my friend and occasionally my girlfriend) her first vibrator. She'd also been raised in a very religious home and was on the same journey that I was toward exploration and freedom and of ourse, eventually pain too. In the store I thought I'd get her this vibrator as a sort of joke since neither one of us had ever masturbated or had an orgasm before. But once I had it in my hand, looking at it & thinking about my friend using it, I knew I would probably want one for myself. and I knew that if she told me that she loved it, I would end up going back to a store & going through the embarrassment of buying one again, so I decided to buy two. I'm sure I was flushed in the face as I took my 2 vibrators up to the counter to pay & I almost ran out when the man at the register asked me if I wanted to buy batteries for them too. Of course I wanted batteries. My new toy would be far less effective if it had no power.

I left the mall immediately afterwards because I couldn't wait to get out to the car & pop the batteries into that badboy and crank it up. It was very low tech; hard plastic, about 10 inches long, twist controller with only one speed. But it seemed to me that it was going to become y very own magic wand. I was afraid to try it out while parked there at the mall, so once I got the batteries installed, I started my car & headed out. Before I could even get out of the parking lot, I had stuck it up my skirt & turned it on. Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! I'd never felt anything so intense and amazing in all my life! I was so shocked that I lost control of the steering wheel & hopped up a curb and into a little grassy divider between spaces where my car stalled. I wanted more than anything to stay right there & have my way with that magic wand. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that I wanted it to have its way with me, but I knew someone was likely to come investigate if I stayed there, so I got back on the road.

I drove back to my host's house very slowly, trying to remember to keep my eyes open and one hand on the steering wheel. I couldn't wait until night fell so that I could really test drive it in the privacy of my room. I hoped that no one would hear it humming through the wall, but it was worth the risk. That little plastic toy was the provider of my first O's and I was very grateful for it.

On the long drive back home, I had about 13 hours to kill, so at one point, I pulled off onto the shoulder of a highway and went around to the trunk to retrieve my new lover from my suitcase. While I was digging in my bag, a cop pulled up behind me and came over to see if I needed any assistance. I told him I was just fine & didn't need any help. He asked me what I was looking for. I hesitated for only a moment before holding up my dildo for him to see and saying that I didn't need any help from him because I could handle my own business.

Then I skipped back into my car & headed on down the highway with a twinkle in my eye and a magic wand up my skirt.






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Do YOU have a story like this from your past that perhaps doesn't quite, ah-hem, fit the tone of your own blog? I'd love to post it on mine! To submit, with full credit or anonymously, click here

A Grossly Skewed Perspective

Jan 17, 2011

“OK class, now that you are close to finishing your lamp shade designs, you will have the option to make it a real, functioning lamp. I will pick up some of these lamp bases. Please bring in £1 and I will help you attach your shade to it and take it home. They will look fantastic!”

(The bases were like a wrought iron material; basic square base with a thin 16 inch tower. Simple but nice...not tacky – I think Ikea had them as well.) 

“Miss! Where did you buy that?”

“Poundstretcher. Why?” 

She contorted her face as if it was about to transform into a monster and then vomit. “Ewww! Eiye no havin’ any’in that’s from Poundstretcha!” The entire class laughed and she continued her tirade. “Miss! Weren’t you embarrassed goin’ in’ta that shop? I’d be well mortified! Y’wouldn’nee catch me within 50 feet of one of them shops! It’d contaminate me clothes, Miss! Did you smell funny after you left?”

I was speechless for a couple seconds and then I composed my rage. “You mean to tell me that you’ve never been in a Poundstretcher? What’s wrong with getting a bargain? That’s a GOOD thing! Maybe when you have to pay your own way, you’ll change your tune.”

“Never, Miss! Eiye never goin’ in one a those shyte holes. Sorry, Miss! Do they sell Bench? How about iPods? Coach? Burberry? Adidas?”

“Of course not!”

“Exactly, Miss. I only own brand names. I’ve even kept me receipts and price tags in case some wanker thinks they’re fakes. Eiye no havin’ nothin’ fake! I'd rather starve!”

I knew far before this conversation that this particular girl was a piece of work and had a lot of behavioural issues, but it was at that moment that I realized something profoundly wrong with everything that just occurred. I knew that continuing this debate further was just wasted oxygen, so I ended it. 

“O well. I guess you won’t be finishing your lamp design then.”

She laughed. “Eiye right, Miss, I dunnie care!”

That night and many nights after that this confrontation haunted me; I kept trying to make sense of it. What has happened to so many of this generation? I know every older generation has been saying that about youth since the time of Socrates, but this is different – it must be; it has to be!

I’ll be the first to admit that I was spoiled growing up, but I was never so unbelievably materialistic, and never knew of anyone that was THAT extreme – and yet in this generation, it is fairly common. I was always aware of how lucky I was to be raised where I did and I never forgot that there were so many that went without. We did the 30 Hour Famine every year to raise money for children in need; and there were continuous food drives, clothing campaigns, and more that we actively took part in, and we understood why we were doing it.

Boasting about the somewhat excessive lifestyle that we led would have been in poor taste; but lately, I see more and more teenagers with nothing less than £500 (over $1000 CAD) of clothing and merchandise on their backs and in their hands at any given time – often with the price tags still attached. The worst part is that I knew that all these kids were NOT from wealthy families. On the contrary, many were on social assistance in the UK – which meant they were probably going without food or other basic necessities (or racking up credit card debit) just so they could keep up with the latest fashions. It’s gross!

MY IDEA: They completely scrap “ski trips to France” or any other ridiculously elaborate school trip which contains zero educational value, and instead it should be mandatory for every teenager to help build houses or schools, or deliver food to a developing nation in need. Perhaps, even for 1 week, they might witness firsthand what life is like outside of their materialistic bubble, learn what is really important in this lifetime, and BE THANKFUL FOR WHAT THEY HAVE.

... And for a little of comic relief, here is Catherine Tate performing a sketch of her character "Lauren Cooper" who is SO MUCH like the girl in my post! (Couldn't find one without sub-titles, sorry)


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This post is in alliance with the One Wee Voice: Taking Action Against Child Poverty

Pizza Face With Extra Bitch

Jan 14, 2011

BWS tips button"Don't worry! Most teenagers go through it... you'll grow out of it."
I remember seeking solace in those words when I was a teenager, and now I despise them. I'm 32 and STILL popping zits and scraping off explosive puss from my mirror as a part of my nightly routine. AHHH!!

I am done with dermatologists. I have been on Amoxicillin, Erythromycin, Minocin, Minocycline, Tetracycline, Vitamin A Acid Cream, Stievamycin, Sulfonamide, and Isotretinoin or more commonly known as Accutane... 3 TIMES. Did you know there are now class action law suits against the makers of Accutane because of the long-term side effects? Yeah... awesome. I guess I should count my blessings that my children were not born with tails!

Oh, but according to Justin Beiber, Proactiv will solve all my problems! Not even fucking remotely close; I've tried that too. And Avril Lavigne? Don't even try to remind me how amazing the 3-step routine works for you; I don't want to hear it, especially from YOU!

I think it was in Eddie Murphy's Delirious that he said something like, "We don't ever grow out of acne, it just moves south to our asses!" Well... yes, actually, now that you mention it... but it didn't pack up and just move south; it's more like it had spread to my nether regions whilst maintaining real estate on my face and shoulders.

I had a cyst that impacted so badly on my groin that I had to have emergency surgery to remove it. Why don't you explain how Proactiv could have helped me outta THAT one, huh, Mrs. Katy Perry?

Every once and a while I get some know-it-all asshole that says to me, "It's all related to what you eat." It takes every fiber of my being not to stab that person to death with a fork.

So, here's to you!
Justin Beiber? Kiss my big white pimply ass!
Avril Lavigne? Lick my crusty mirror!
Katy Perry? Suck my pustules!
And Julianne Hough? Well.. I actually don't know who the hell you are, but I sure had fun drawing horns on you.


And to everyone who has always had perfect skin.... FUCK YOU TOO!!!
xox

Wordless Wednesday: It speaks for itself.

Jan 12, 2011

Whore Frost

Strange Addictions

Jan 11, 2011

I recently found Top 2 Tuesday on The Undomestic Momma - which fuckin' rocks mainly because it's the perfect number that I can complete whilst holding my attention on any single task. I see so many of the Top Ten lists and I know there is no way in hell I could follow through with that many without 2 weeks notice to complete it. I'm jealous of all you keeners that can churn out Top 10's on a regular basis. So without further adieu, here's my wonderfully underachieving (yet still maintaining the minimum requirement) list of two.


1. Pumpkin flavour. Anything. Everything.
Pumpkin Pie - well, that goes without saying. Then there is pumpkin soup, Pumpkin Spiced Latte & pumpkin scone at Starbucks, PC pumpkin cheese cake, pumpkin donut at Tim Horton's... and the pièce de résistance: THE DQ PUMPKIN PIE BLIZZARD. Although Chocolate chip cookie dough would probably be the old faithful, the pumpkin pie blizzard is only available for the month of October. I usually gain 5 pounds in October.


2. Day of our Lives
It's ridiculous. It's annoying. It's lowered my IQ by at least 10 points, but I've been watching it since I was a toddler, literally. It's a part of me - and like my fat ass is also a part of me, I hate them both but I can't get rid of either no matter how hard I try. Mike Horton isn't even on anymore but I still cannot stop myself from turning on the TV at 1 o'clock and become mesmerized by the 5-times regurgitated story lines. As long as it is on air, you can be certain that I will be watching.

The Friendship Equation

Jan 10, 2011

Originally, I was going to write an oh-so-wise hypothesis as to how, although unlikely, men and women can be only friends but it wasn't anything that I hadn't heard before. I recently told Tough Cookie Mommy that I've had sex with all my guy friends, except for one. That much is true, because that one is gay... but as it turns out, I even made out with him "pre-closet exiting" in a drunken fog back in high school. Ah crap! The more I thought about all the factors and variables, the more I started to sound like my fucking grade 10 maths teacher (whom I despised) but there was something there, deep in the dusty archives of my brain... or maybe it's because I've been watching too much Big Bang Theory, but nevertheless, instead of crapping on and on about this complex topic, I worked out an equation instead: 

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This post was created for the Sharing Is Caring Collective.

Stylish Award - Thank you!

Jan 9, 2011


So, I am up here on my imaginary podium, clearing my phlegmy throat - AH HEMMM...

THANK YOU Rockin' Momma for passing along the Stylish blogger Award to me! You are so awesome to think me deserving of it - it means A LOT. Secondly, Fuck you for making me think on a Sunday! xox

How this works...
1. Thank & link back to the person who awarded you this award.
2. Share 7 things about yourself.
3. Award 15 recently discovered bloggers. (There is no way I have the energy or attention span to do 15, I'll link to blogs I'm lovin' lately and who deserve the award, how's that?)
4. Contact these bloggers and tell them about the award!

7 things about Lady Estrogen:
1. I hate yellow gold.
2. I bite the sides of my fingers - not the nails; the skin beside the nails. Ugh.
3. My first tattoo was totally ruined by stretch marks - it's now a mutilated & decapitated turtle.
4. I would eat cereal and milk for every meal if I could.
5. I hate oranges but love Fanta.
6. I use to play women's hockey.
7. I still text & drive even though I KNOW how terrible it is; I try to only do it when I'm stopped at a light.

Passing this funky award to...

Almost There - Because you are HOT and I love your support :)

LadyLike Pervert - Because you're as warped as me and that's awesome!

Masshole Mommy - Because I just found you and I'm a-likin' what I'm a-seein'.

Weeman - Because you're doing a lot of good stuff on your site - more initiative than I'll ever have!

Tough Cookie Mommy - Because you've got a good thing goin' on.

Laughing My Abs Off - Because you have made me laugh on numerous occasions lately :)

After Nine to Five - Because I'm liking you're shit.

RandomRoRo - Because I often think you're writing what I'm thinking.

Life in a Pink Fibro - Because I love all that you do.

Mommy is Rock /n Roll - Because pink and black KICK ASS.


And again, Rockin' Momma - fuck you harder and suck my balls... but you've touched me... in a great way, not a molester way.


xoxo


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PS. I totally understand if you, the fabulous 10 that I have mentioned, do not forward this along; just know that I think you all ROCK. 'Nuf said. xox

His Nose Knows

Jan 7, 2011

Jake had large features - larger than the average bear anyway. Somehow they all worked together on his face and he was a fairly attractive man. I've often seen young children with features like his and thought to myself, "JESUS CHRIST! That's one ugly kid!" But 9 times out of 10, those kids grow into their features and usually turn out to be quite handsome or beautiful - it just takes time.

So, yes, Jake had big ears, a strong cleft chin as well as a large cleft nose. His nose was probably the first thing I noticed about him when we met... and as it turns out, the last thing I remember about him as well. I've seen a lot of people with cleft chins, but not the nose as well; it was pretty unique.

We got intimate fairly quickly, of course... it's how I roll... straight into bed. I don't know if it was the chemistry or something completely indescribable but Jake had total control over my senses. I attempted to take mental notes but I never once noticed anything out of the ordinary; no special twists or shakes or anything. My body is usually a little stubborn and it takes a bit of elbow grease to get me to climax - even idiot boy, however good at it that he was, still took him about 20 minutes or so to get the job done.

Jake's easiest effort (and a personal record I don't think I could possibly break) was about 10 seconds. TEN FUCKING SECONDS... and you know what he did? Rubbed that sexy cleft nose against my clitoris, probably, umm, twice? He slowly went up, then down and on his way back up again, I was D-O-N-E and slightly suffering from conflicting feelings of ecstasy and shock.

He actually gave me a dirty look and thought I was faking it. No way honey! I never give out unearned credit, and even if I did, it sure as hell wouldn't have been after only 10 seconds! PU-LEASE.

I don't think I was in love with him more than I was in love with his nose; that incredibly fabulous nose. One night while he was sleeping, I sketched his nose - and I recently found that sketchbook, which is what jogged loose this fantastic tidbit in the On-going History of My Sexography.

What more can I say? The nose knows... aaaaand then he took me back to the special café where we first met... to dump me... but that's a story I've already told. Good times, people!

Weird Me Wednesday

Jan 5, 2011

PhotobucketI loved to chew on my hair - and I think if it were longer enough today, I still would. I love the sound of it crunching between my teeth. I would grab a little group and chew through it. Once it got too soggy, I would let that one go and grab a new lump.

Crunch,
     crunch,
         crunch!

I'm sure it's also a part of my O.C.D. I once saw a special where the patient actually pulled out strands of their hair and ate it - a symptom called Trichotillomania. She ended up having a pound of hair in her stomach or something disgusting like that. I cut my hair really short a couple weeks after I saw that.

The Great Eruption of 2011

Jan 3, 2011

OK. So it's not usually my M.O. to talk about my 'current' sex life, as there is usually not much to embellish upon our fairly normal husband & wife scenarios - BUT I have had a break-through and need to shout it from the roof tops, yodel from the mountain tops, and scream it from any other top of anything that is... well... bloody high up there, let's put it that way!

I don't know if it was due to the stress of everything that was happening in my life or what, and although my sex drive has never wavered, (and sometimes, I actually wish I could put a leash on her) my precious lady bits and the ability to climax had gone on strike... for like, OVER A YEAR! I know my hubby isn't the most persistent of lovers, but I have to give him some credit in trying every once and a while, because he did.

Him? Nothing.

Him and me? Zip.

Just me? Zilch.

Me & The Purple Thumper? Nadda.

WHAT THE HELL? My friends had also offered up the hypothesis that it MUST be the stress that I was under, but I still wasn't convinced. I'd gone thought shitty times before, but once the clothes came off, I have not but 1 focus. I am able to cut out the background noise and life's bullshit... always. It was baffling.

Then... 2 nights ago... WHAM! And then... WOW, YES and OH GOD! That's right. After probably the better part of 18 months of zero orgasms I achieved 4 in under half an hour. THANK YOU JESUS... and my husband, of course. (The rare times you'll catch me being religious is ironically in the bedroom, go figure.) We didn't do anything different than the other times when it was the 3 of us (me, hubby and Purple Thumper) but I don't even care or wish to offer up a post-game analysis.

And it wasn't a fluke either, because last night the Great Eruption happened again.

Conclusion? I'm back, baby!
The curse of 2010 has been broken. 2011, I already fucking love you!

Hey 2010, don't hit your ass on the way out!

Jan 1, 2011

2010 was a tough year for me; emotionally, financially and physically exhausting! I started this blog for a couple reasons - mainly because I had a shit load of stories that I had stored in the nether regions of my brain that was beginning to develop a few cobwebs, so I thought I better get my act together and write them all down. Secondly, in times of stress and internal chaos, I have found comfort and solace in my art. When I was living in the UK and going slightly insane with hatred for my job as a high school teacher, I coped by painting a 12-work landscape series - and they were quite good, if I do say so myself ;) The main difference was that back then I didn't have any kids! Painting wasn't exactly in the cards this time around whilst juggling full-time work, marriage, building a house and raising twin toddlers, but I always have my laptop - and hence begun my journey through this wonderful blogsphere!

Here is my year in review, as I rolled out some of my great... and not-so-great moments that carved out my path in becoming the wonderfully warped yet (somewhat) functional woman that I am today.

January: He's Totally 'The One' (Part 1) - The beginning of Jim's story. *sigh*

February: Counting Fruit Loops - The moment my O.C.D. was exposed.

March: To Barf or Not to Barf - My love/hate relationship with my body image.

April: Aunt Flow is a Bitch - The moment I became a "woman"... at Disney World.

May: Illegal? Kinda. Maybe. Sorta. - My life of crime and how it ended.

June: Giggle & Squeak - My experience with another girl... was missing something.

July: It's so hard to say Good-bye (Part 4) - How Jim's story ended... until this year, anyway.

August: Breakup Café - One of the worst & weirdest ways I ever got dumped.

September: The Visitation - A special stranger that helped me through a tough moment in my life.

October: Halloween Rollercoaster - A memory I wish I could forget.

November: My Journey Home - After a decade, the month I got to go 'home'.

December: A Promise to Keep - Special (and sad) circumstances surrounding how I got my name
and the events that led up to my birth.

So, here's to a new year - with many more stories to roll out and things to bitch about. Cheers for reading!!
For more fantastic year-in-review lists, visit ScaryMommy's blog hop.

 
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