Get Better

I don't think I've done a Music Monday for about 6 months, gah! Since I've been busy stuffing pocket rocket boxes with my business cards for BlogHer '12, I thought now is a good a time as any. Also? This may not be a new song, but it's new to me and it blew my gawd damn mind...

When music is used as a tool 

to share a vital message about the state of our society, 

(and not just about screwing hos or how much money you have), 

my heart swells with pride. 

And after hearing this, I'm bursting. 

Please watch if you haven't already - 

and if you have children in high school, 

watch it with them!

"..there are other choices --- if you want them, 
You don't have to tow the line and just float with the flotsam, 
You can build your time better when you find a passion, 
The Internet and public services give free education, 
So it really ain't a case of rich or poor, 
It's a case of self-motivation and nothing more, 
Like Billy says, whether you have or you have not wealth, 
The system might fail you, but don't fail yourself, 
Just get better."

I've Made Up My Mind

I have been slowly coming to the realization that I need to make some serious preventative measures in my life, particularly when it comes to my health, for a long time. A couple years ago, I discussed the basic root of my body and self esteem issues that I've had pretty much my entire life. Factoring in getting older, having a sedentary career and having twins all being thrown into the mix, it's just getting worse.

And I'm getting tired.

People will nonchalantly talk to me about lifestyle and exercise and eating certain foods and drinking more water and using more will power like it's an easy fix, but I can pretty much guarantee they haven't been hungry all their lives. So, to them? Thanks for caring, but please shut the fuck up. Until you've experienced the gnawing pangs of hunger only 1/2 an hour after you've JUST had a full meal... for your entire life... you don't know what this is like.

And I've seen my future if I don't do anything about it. My grandfather lived to be 83 but he was over 400lbs when he died. I cannot have that for myself; I refuse to accept that fate.

I often usual the visualization of myself leaning up against a giant dam that is holding back HUNGER. It's a fucking huge dam and I'm sweating, aching and exhausted trying to hold it up. And it's cracking everywhere. Bits of Hunger are leaking through. Diets and band-aids aren't working anymore. I keep pushing it back as hard as I can but it's just too big and angry. The Hunger is so fucking pissed off and it screams constantly.

Every moment of every day, it taunts me.

One of the reasons I started this blog, which is also the same reason why I'm slowly gathering certain stories for my elusive book, is that I wanted to show young girls that aren't a size zero that life can still be an amazing adventure and that they can be big and beautiful and rock it!

And it is so damn true; I wish more women knew it.

I don't feel like by making this decision I am becoming a hypocrite. Why? Because this was me 15 years ago...

I was sexy and confident and also happened to be 200lbs, and THAT'S OK! The thing is, is that I am a lot more today, but I want to be her again. I want to be her for myself and for my children. (I'd say my husband too but the last time I lost 80lbs he didn't even notice. Uh huh.) I need to do it NOW before I wake up and find myself at 45 being 400lbs. So, she's inside me... somewhere; I just need to find her.

I just don't want to be hungry anymore.

I want to have half a sandwich and feel full and satisfied. Even the thought of that makes me giddy. I know it's not going to be easy and that I will have to make some massive changes in my lifestyle. But just dieting and exercise doesn't calm the screaming in my stomach - in fact, it makes it so much worse. I'm going to need help to achieve my goal, once and for all. I feel so much better just by discussing it with my family and finally making a decision.

I've made up my mind; I'm having weight loss surgery. 

Bitches be rude!

It's that time again where I've locked myself In The Powder Room stall so I can unload - and I'm not talking about my IBS, so don't worry. Please journey over there and perhaps even add some more "come back" ideas to my list of woulda coulda shoulda's to mine. I'm sure there's much, much more that could have been said.

Oh, yes... so much motherfucking more.

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I also wanted to share some of my breathtaking photography today. I posted on The Twitter a little while ago about this tree that flashes me its brown eye and rudely mocks me every time I walk by it. Ahem.

I guess because historically speaking, the act of "mooning" has been primarily dominated by men -- especially when kilts were in fashion, that I assumed it was a "he tree". I mean, have you seen Braveheart or even more recently, Brave? Oh, yes, there's an old Scottish man moon in Brave. Thank you, Disney.

Anyhow, I digress. Today, I finally took to exploring around the rest of this tree, which I have come to affectionately call Seymour Butts McTree, and guess what?!

Jane Seymour Butts McTree

He's a fucking she tree!

This tree is seriously exposed, yo! In light of this new information, I've had to amend her name to Jane Seymour Butts McTree.

And if you're wondering if I gave her hood a little tickle?

Hell yes, I did.
DON'T BE SO DISGUSTING; OF COURSE I DIDN'T.
I am not a Dendrophiliac.

Aaaaaaaaaahem.

Unfastened Friday 6.0

Oooohh, it's about that time again folks. It's been a long while since the last Unfastened Friday, so it was well overdue! Have got some naughty submissions this time round - which are, of course, thee best kind. Seriously, who needs 50 Shades of Whatthefuckever when we've got REAL LIFE stories to tell. Ahem.

The Opportunists
Once upon a time there was a guy and a girl who just could not get enough of each other. These two were desperate to feel each other, to tease each other and to taste each other.

Given that each of them was married... to other people... they had to become creative when it came to fulfilling those needs. Lunch hours were spent rushing to a meeting place, saying a quick “hi” before tearing at each other’s clothes, needing to remove them as fast possible because time was short. The kissing was hard and deep, filled with need... as was the thrusting. Moans, heavy breaths, primitive sounds filled the air only to be shattered with silence once both reached their peak.

It didn’t matter where it was... including the second floor walk-in-closet of a model home while others toured the downstairs... these two made the most of any opportunity that arose!

- Anonymous


The MILF
Quite awhile back I broke up with my girlfriend and changed my status on Facebook from 'in a relationship' to 'single'. Almost on cue, my friend's mom commented on it saying how happy she was. Now mind you, I had been friends with her daughter since my freshman year in high school.

Anyway, she ends up messaging me saying how being single was much more fun and before you know it she was inviting me over for some breakfast one morning. It was my first time being at her house so she gave me the tour, which of course ended in the bedroom.

Laying down, she said to feel how comfy the bed was with her. Of course, I laid down and before you know it I was pulling down her pants and sliding my manhood between her legs. Apparently, she hadn't done it in a while and she finished quicker than I would have expected.

She was about 30 at the time and I was 19.

- Anonymous


The Ex-Swingers
I see him all the time, he's always dressed up so nice and he smells so good. We meet up for coffee or whatever, finding excuses to see each other as often as we can.

When we're with each other AND our spouses, we are sneaking footsie under the table, brushing against each other on purpose, catching the other one looking. Alone we embrace and breathe each other in. Feeling the want and the desire between us like a sharp knife.

I can't sit and listen to him without picturing him naked, just as he is. Sitting back with me on top, riding his gigantic cock that fills me up more than I ever have been before. Feeling so small against his tall, muscular body. Cumming over and over and over just from the pure excitement.

I think of that gorgeous cock hitting the back of my throat, it tasted so good. Him, face between my legs, my warm juices unable to stop squirting.

I know what you're thinking: we've had an affair. We haven't. Once upon a time, with a quick text I'd be off driving to his house and his wife to mine. A quick swap to spice up life a little. It worked out fantastic. I loved fucking him, I couldn't wait for it.

Now we can't. One member of the bunch doesn't want to anymore. It's been a year and we still haven't found two people to take their place. So we just continue on, respecting the sanctity of marriage and only crossing the line a little bit... just to keep life exciting.

- A mommy blogger you might know...but you'll never find out :)

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See? That was fun, wasn't it? Have your own UFF entry? Submit here. You can be 100% anonymous (even from moi) and not even fill in the "FROM" field or email; it's up to you. Either way? DO IT... pretty please.

Tat's what I'm talkin' about

As I walked by a late-teen-year-old girl at the movies last night that had the Elvish script from the Lord of the Rings tattooed around her neck, I thought to myself, "Wow, I don't think in over 300 posts I have discussed my thoughts on tattoos!" Well alright then, here it goes...

I lied, actually, that was the third thought that went through my head when I saw that girl. The first one was that her mother probably cried when she came home from the tattoo parlor. The second was, "Oh my god, she's going to regret that in a couple years. Think of her wedding photos... ugh!" I'm not saying that all tats look like shit in a wedding dress... because some look amazing, but a phrase written in a pretend language from a movie across your neck? Umm... no.

And I'm fairly certain it's not my advanced age talking either. I got my first tattoo at 16 (which I got with a forged photocopy of my passport. Ahem), but even then I knew that I wanted to get it in a place that could be hidden for important events, like interviews and *coughs* ...church. But it's true, and you know what? IT LOOKS LIKE MANGLED ROAD KILL NOW, so thank fuck no one except a select few can see it!

I wish my fairy godmother could have popped in for a visit to tell me, "Hell no! Don't do it - in the future you will have 14 pounds of twins which will fuck up your entire stomach."

But alas, she never came.

Look. That's cool if you're in a position where visible tattoos are not an issue, but at 16 or even 20, how many people can possibly know that? Unless you're already a millionaire rock star, not many. And that is the problem! Every teen wants to look like rock star and they aren't thinking about reality. AT ALL. You can get on the defensive all you want and say shit like, "If they won't hire me because of my tattoos, they fuck'em!" but that scrappy attitude ain't going to pay the bills or put food in your future children's mouths.

Ashley, a Reality TV blogger put it like this... young people seem to take the idea of getting a ginormous tattoo all over their body very lightly these days and that a lot of times, people don’t think about what those tattoos will look like when they get old. (Old as in 65, not 30!).

When I was 16, which was almost 20 years ago (holy fuck, yo!) tats were obviously still a "cool" thing to get but it was usually in the form of a little heart on your ass, or a butterfly on your ankle, etc, etc. They were TINY things. Even the design I got on my back when I was 19 (which was NOT called a tramp stamp back then ;) is only 4 inches in diameter but was considered a "big tattoo" at the time.

Now that I'm in my mid-thirties, I don't want to get my tats removed per se, but I do want them fixed, and I am still planning on getting at least one more that is quite a fair bit larger. But I have my career and I've had my kids, and I know what I want and why I want it - which are very sentimental reasons, none of which being: "Like, 'cause they're, like, super cute and I love their band? (insert gum smacks)".

I guess the bottom line is that I think the legal age for getting a tattoo without parental consent should be 25... (as it should be for marriage and joining the army too, in my opinion), so to prevent train wrecks like this:

Source: TheCount.com

Or this:

Source: HollywoodLife.com

Or maybe even this:

Source: Starcasm.net

Let's completely ignore the veiny heart or the cupcakes-as-letters that spell "Booko(?)", or the cursive text that does not adhere to the lined paper whatsofuckingever, and go up to "bullet proof" on her shoulder which I read as BUFFET PROOF.

Sweet.

I wish I was buffet proof too.

Osh Tosh B'gosh

Whether or not you've heard by now, Daniel Tosh did something quite repugnant. In saying that, I'm not going to entirely rant about how much of a douche muppet he is - why? Because I am trying to assess this situation from some kind of middle ground (or at least 70/30). I realize that simply because I have a vagina that would very much like not to be raped, it might not be possible to be unbiased, but there it is.

I would like to think that we're not all complete idiots and when you go to see a show with the likes of Daniel Tosh and Dane Cook headlining that you are going because A) You somehow appreciate their sense of humor and actually paid, or B) Got free tickets and understand who they are but still have thick skin enough to stomach their routine for 90 minutes, or C) Have no idea what you're getting in to because you've been raised in a protective bubble filled with cotton candy.

I would be in the B group, for the record.

Everyone has their limitations to what we do or do not find funny, mostly due to our own unique life experiences and tragedies, so what some would find horribly offensive, someone else thinks it's hilarious. For example, I made an abortion joke on Twitter last year that single handedly lost me almost 30 followers... but I laughed at myself so hard I was nearly in tears - and some people loved it, so I wasn't entirely alone.

And I have laughed at religious jokes.
I have laughed at racist jokes.
I have laughed at sexist jokes.
I have laughed at Helen Keller jokes - actually, they're some of my favorite to tell.

And I also have NOT laughed at religious jokes.
Nor have I at racist jokes.
Nor have I at sexist jokes.
Umm... sorry, Helen.

But I get it. 
And I don't internalize them as personal attacks if I think a joke is in poor taste. We cannot control what we do or do not find funny, but we can control our contextual understanding of every situation and take them with big chunky grains of salt.

So when Daniel Tosh starts making a joke about rape and how hilarious it is (OBVIOUSLY HE WAS BEING SARCASTIC), I would have sat there and zoned out. Since he was allegedly "going on about it" he was very likely struggling to get a laugh and dying a slow comedic death, regardless of the heckling from this offended girl.

Should he have responded to her heckling by saying that it would be funny if she was gang raped?

FUCK NO! WHAT A FUCKING MORONIC THING TO DO.

Slow fucking clap to you, Daniel.
It's obvious that his inability to defend himself with nothing but a juvenile, asinine "I know you are but what am I" type of insult just demonstrates the true depth of his comedic intelligence.

I'd like to think that if it was me, I would have been able to say something like, "Actually, Daniel, it wouldn't be quite as funny as YOU getting raped by 5 guys, or at least one giant guy who's nickname is Tripod."

And only then would I have made my grand exit.

The terrifyingly beautiful thing about the internet is that once you do something so incredibly stooopid, it gets out there for the entire world to see. Tosh acknowledged the situation (which is more than most public figures do on Twitter) and said this...

And here's where I throw in my two cents worth of Devil's advocate to Tosh. When it comes to stand up comedy, have you EVER seen a comic apologize ON STAGE for a joke? Hell no. If comics had to start doing that, they'd sound like us Canadians and begin apologizing after every fucking punchline. Could you imagine Lisa Lampanelli in that situation? She's be toast. As would all other "shock tactic" comics out there. Do these comics impress me? Not in the least...

...but I also wouldn't agree to see them in the first place.

Another 'ship has sunk

Was I popular in high school? I guess it depends on what is considered "popular". I was out-going, out-spoken, moderately entertaining, usually friendly and had my hands in a lot of different honey pots. So, did most people know my name? By that sense of the definition, yes.

But did I have a lot of people that I genuinely valued their company and friendship? No.

After the completion of high school, I was so glad to give the majority of the people I knew a big giant "FUCK YOU!" (Queue the creation of my living nightmare that is Facebook) But there was a small handful of friends that I loved, and apart from extenuating circumstances, I fiercely valued those friendships.

Then life happens.

We grow apart.

But you know what? Even with spouses, kids, real estate, eleventeen hundred projects on the go and mild nervous breakdowns, I still love my friends. I would do anything to help them, stand by them, and support them... if they let me, even if I did show up still unclasping my straight jacket. Whatevs, right?

The downward slope began about a year ago when phone messages and texts weren't responded to. HOW HARD IS IT TO REPLY TO A TEXT, SERIOUSLY? Gah.

Then an engagement. And bachelorette party. Then a "reception" (since the wedding was essentially an elopement). All with zero communication directly from the bride. Now, I've always known that we weren't BFFs or anything, but still close enough to expect some kind of acknowledgement that I exist. But no, nothing.

During a catch-up session I was having with my rock with a cock (who was never more to this girl than a close drinking acquaintance), he tells me about an e-vite THAT HE GOT for the "reception".

And here's the moment I felt like I got punched in the stomach and spit in the face by a "FRIEND" that I have loved for the most part of 20 years.

But now I have to move on. I have to let go. It's something I am truly terrible at - I will claw myself to the surface of a relationship until my last possible breath. Apparently, with this relationship? T'was about 18 months ago and I've been making myself sick over it for no reason.

And that's time I'll never get back. Sleep I'll never gain. Tears I'll never replenish.

And she most likely doesn't give the slightest ounce of fuck.

So here I am, standing at the edge of the proverbial ocean as I shoot the last bullet into our 'ship and let it sink to its grave, once and for all.

I wish her well in all that she does in life, but I'm done staying sad about being ignored and excluded by someone that clearly hasn't valued me for a very long time. I have more important things that I can be happy about instead.

And then there were three..

Hear ye! Hear ye!

Thanks to my supportive husband, (and I'm actually not even being a smarmy bitch when I say that... this time!) we will be driving down to NYC on August 2nd. Why is that, you ask? Ohh, because I'm going to go to my first BlogHer event and chill out with Martha Stewart. Yeah, baby! Myself, The Suniverse and Martha are going to compare prison tats - it's gonna to be very. <-- See? Even my Heathers' quotes are coming out, proof that I'm, well, this...

I'm only going for the Friday of the conference but I cannot wait to meet so many of you for some quickies! Over the last couple years, I practically feel like I know you anyway, but it's always cool to get that in-person experience. Like the late great Dicky Fox said, "The key to this business is personal relationships." Yes, Dicky, I totally agree with you.

So tomorrow, I'm off to get some treats that my fabulous local Love Shop are donating to me to take to the conference. It won't technically be sponsorship material (which is a no-no) since it's only to promote my blog, so shhhhhh. Said treats will also come with one of my limited edition magnets. Yay! 

Le magnet: It's attractive

And no, I haven't had sex this week, because... MERCHANDISING.

I have started a list on The Twitter for people that are also going to BlogHer, so if you're reading this and I haven't added you, please tell me!

On a side note, I realize how motherfucking annoying it can get for people that aren't at the conference to hear about all the shit - that was me for the last 2 years, actually. It's not out of jealously, but constantly hearing about an event/party that you weren't at is just simply irritating. I will keep that in mind while I tweet and blog cautiously at grotesquely inflated roaming rates while I'm in Amurrrica.

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Farrah, please step forward! 

You need to email/DM me your deets so I can send you THE CERVIXENS t-shirt that you won!

Congrats - please wear your honorary Cervixen top with pride... especially when you're maybe not wearing a bra, but that is totally just a suggestion. 

Ahem.

'Cos I'm, like, hairy?

Over the last couple months, there has been some women (specifically Emer O'Toole & Charlotte Free) that have been making a statement about feminism and what constitutes femininity over, say, infantilisation by ceasing to shave their body hair - legs, pubes and pits. This post is by no means written with angry PMS coursing through my veins. Au contraire. I was actually laughing out loud and shaking my head (that's right, a real LOL-SMH for realzies) when I was reading/watching these women talk about their new found "freedom".

Snorty snort snort.

This issue is so multifaceted. Of course it is - or else it wouldn't be making headlines, but there's only two points that I really want to discuss today, to prevent me from crapping on for an eternity.

ONE: Who would you rather? 
I don't give a fuck whose rose colored glasses you want me to look though, but the world is a shallow, cruel place, especially in Western culture. Them's the facts. Is it right? Of course not, but there it is. And here's poor, "brave" Charlotte Free with her cute little hairy armpits. Awwweeeee...

{Source: Terry Richardson via Have you heard the latest}

Emer O'Toole attempts to be funny with her answer to the question "Don’t men find you physically repulsive and refuse to engage in sexual and/or romantic relations with you?" but goes on to say that ALL the boyfriends she has had have been OK with it.

Of. Course. They. Are.

She's adorable. Christ, even I want to have sex with her!

These women could fucking braid their pits and put beads on the ends and men will still fall at their feet. I think Emer's kind of completely missed the point which is: Whether or not she has hair on her pits, she's still beautiful! I did three takes on her answer, laughing the whole time and picturing her saying it while smacking gum and twirling her hair. Okay, that might have been slightly bitchy, but you get the point.

I'm not saying that I can't take her seriously since she's stunning either, because THAT would be anti-feminist of me. I'm merely stating that a lot of women that look like that (including many of my own girl friends) have no fucking clue when they say things like, "Awe, those guys are soooo nice!" that those guys just so happened to be the same guys that were complete assholes to me... simply because I didn't look like her.

This would be a more accurate portrayal of me the "average" woman going au naturale.

{Source: eBaum's World}

And if she's cool with that? Then rock on, sista! But it's not for everyone. And it's not as "easy" as it is in Terry's little bubble world.

Just by using these two photos alone proves my point that most people are shallow dick smacks - since the one of Charlotte gets put on the cover of a magazine, and the caption of this Leopard-print Lady (that I purposely cropped out) was something like "Will someone please get me a razor and a shot gun?" Awful.

I rest my case.

TWO: You, Me & my silk panties.
I don't even see why this is a "feminist" issue at all. It's a personal grooming choice. Are there societal conventions? Hell yes, but using it to make some sort of equality statement bores me, especially since it's not 1960. Yawn.

Pro-Choice
Equal salaries
Benefits
Child care

These are feminist issues. You want a hairy snatch? Go right ahead. Personally, I detest the feeling of hairy armpits on myself. I don't give a rat's ass if men prefer one look to the other, it's purely a decision I made for myself a long time ago. Forget feminism, it's not even about femininity either, it just feels good.

I had once described my over zealous pubic area as being likened to that of Russell Brand's hair style. And I didn't like it one bit. I will NEVER forget the first time I shaved the bottom half of my glory box (I keep the top growing, so to maintain my womanly essence) and I have to say, it was fucking a-mazing.

I happened to have a nice little pair of silk panties and when I put them on I was like, "WHOA, BABY."

Then I sat on my boyfriend's face and it was like, "HOOOOLY GAWD!"

And apart from my eyes rolling inside my head, I've never looked back.

So, yes, there may come a day when I will join a picket line and hoist a sign in support of woman's rights, but I will never, not ever deny myself of a good shave.

Unless I went on Survivor.

But we all know how that would work out.

Just sayin'


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Note: Error of the model's name fixed thanks to The Tsarista.
Lesson learned: Don't drink and blog... too often.
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