The tale of Dr. Alle Gory

There once was a respected doctor in the little village that was nestled beautifully between an emerald green lake and a mountain range that resembled enormous chocolate chunks which had been gently sprinkled with icing sugar.

The village thrived as every citizen offered something unique to the town, and the doctor's job was to take care of everyone... until one day, a faceless and evil entity crept into the village. This villain whispered ideas into the villagers ears, telling them that they didn't need the good doctor anymore. There was this thing called "the internet" that could surely show them how to do everything that the doctor could do - and this way, they would be saving so much money and time, just by taking care of their maladies themselves.

What a catastrophically devious plan.

The faceless villain could be heard throughout the land as he joyfully chuckled with his deep and sinister voice. It sent chills down the doctor's spine and she cringed. The creature swiftly left the village and moved on to the next, as if he knew exactly what was about to occur.

Soon after, Dr. Gory's patient list became sparser and sparser as they dropped their appointments one-by-one, like a wilting daisy losing its petals. Around the same time, she noticed that some villagers started to look, well, off, for lack of a better word. They would limp a little, but then smile at the doctor, likely to create the illusion that everything was alright.

They became absolutely convinced they didn't need the doctor when convenient wysiwyg techniques were accessible to them. And yet more and more of the ill advised citizens began to look injured, or sick. Some looked like they had strange rashes and other ugly deformities on their bodies. One man even tried to remove a growth from his leg by himself! Dr. Gory ran over to this horrific sight and offered to help, but he winced and protested, "No, no, no. It's fine. I played around with the saaaaame tools that you have and for the most part, I think I've figured it out."

Alle stormed away, pulling at her hair and gnashing her teeth in frustration.

The citizens became sicker and more grotesque to the point where the disheartened doctor couldn't even look out her window without seeing carnage. A fatally false sense of "knowledge" had been given to these people with those seductive tools and things called "free apps" and "filters". And the saddest part was that they either didn't notice how awful they looked or they were just in severe denial and refused advice from the one and only person that was truly qualified to help them.

The doctor wept under her face mask as the village collapsed before her very eyes. There was nothing left of her once beautiful village. All that remained was an ugly ghost town filled with corpses and old flyers rustling in the wind like tumbleweed. As one flyer slapped against her ankle, she leaned over to pick it up. It read:

Seeing this horrific mockery of everything she had learned and worked towards for the past ten years must have been the breaking point for this poor, broken doctor. Alle slowly looked up to the sky and let one single tear drop escape her eye as she ripped up the flyer. She let it drop to the ground and with resolution in her mind and conviction in her steps, she got in her car and began to drive it full speed towards the calm lake. There was a great CUR-SPLASH as her vehicle pounded into the water. Giant air bubbles violently screamed to the surface as the car quickly sank to the bottom, along with the doctor inside...

But of course, I wouldn't have to worry about such nonsense because since I'm just a graphic designer and not a doctor, no one would ever bother to undermine my profession and think that they could do my job.

THAT WOULD JUST BE
UTTERLY. FUCKING. PREPOSTEROUS.

Oooh, you so trashy!

I had been held as a willing hostage for most of the weekend at various family events sans phone. I know, I know; there was definitely twitching happening on my part, much to my husband's delight. If it were up to him, I'm sure he would burn my phone, stomp on it, and then bury it 6 feet under. Don't get him started on The Twitter. Oh, yes.

Anyway, so I just found out that this poor woman that was attempting to get photos of herself in her wedding dress slipped off some rocks and sunk to her death. (Thanks for the link, Shelly) And I got to thinking that surely this ill advised woman had not seen the movie The Piano. I mean, really... however dry and painful it was to watch, that movie teaches you three very valuable lessons: 1. Kids are assholes and are not to be trusted. 2. Don't always dismiss the weird dude; he's usually great in the sack... and 3. Corseted dresses are really heavy and if you wear them in water, you will fucking drown.

I had to write an essay on that god forsaken movie in University, does it show?
I would never kid about such things.

Anyhow, yes. It's very sad that that woman met her early demise under those circumstances; it's all fun & trains... until you die. Ahem. That aside, I searched the term "trash the dress" and I was both amused and horrified as to what brides (and some grooms) request for this bizarre trend of fucking up your dress after your wedding.

Here's some of the ones that I love to hate the most, and I took the liberty of adding what I'm SURE they're really thinking...

Yes... that.

As a side note, although some "trash the dress" photos can turn out quite lovely (not these ones, obviously), I still feel like instead of ruining hundreds (or thousands) of dollars worth of dresses on a quirky photo, how about donating it to The Bride's Project instead? There are many brides that would have loved to use these dresses that get ruined for fun, plus all their proceeds go to fighting cancer.

Just a thought...

The Orgasm Bootcamp

OK, so I've been staying at my dear friend's place all week because of work shit, but since I was going to be staying, I thought as a hospitality gift, I would give her the gift that keeps on giving.

As I had mentioned a while back, I had my personal, umm, awakening last year, thanks to thee most beautiful piece of ergonomically crafted stainless steel that mankind has ever created.

Being the giving person that I am, I need to pass on this efficient knowledge that I have acquired; I feel it would be rather selfish of me to keep it to myself. So, I got out my dynamic duo of sex toys and sat down with my friend of 15 years. A friend, like many other women, is in her 30s and cannot give herself an orgasm. This isn't cool, especially when she's currently single.

Cue the smirks.
Ok, ok. Get out those giggles, woman. This is serious shit!

I was trying to channel my inner Sue motherfucking Johanson and do my very best "this is your vaginal canal with my hands" as I explained to her how to giver herself an orgasm with these special, special tools.

Warm up the steel with your hands a bit - it can be fairly cold to start.
You slide in the 3 bulbed end like this.
And move it from 10 and 2 like that, while also going in and out.
Rub it against the top of your vagina.
Push down your pelvis like that.
Start the vibrator on low and build up to a higher setting as you go along...

"Wait. I have to use both? That seems like a lot."

Yes, you use them in tandem! And no, it's not a lot. You're doing most of the work with the njoy. The vibrator is just pressing against your clit and surrounding area with only subtle motion. You'll know the spot when you hit it.

Trust me.

That is why I'd personally found the rabbit didn't work for me, since its dual prongs are one entity and the motions are symbiotic. However, what I want and need the internal and external stimulators to be doing are really quite different. One is thrusting and turning fast, while the other is slow and firm.


****8 hour time lapse****


I came home from work and found these in the bathroom, neatly washed and air drying on a towel...

I just love it when my student does her homework.

And yes, she tried. And tried. And tried.

"That steel really is more amazing that I ever imagined. I got close a couple times, buuuuuttt..."

GAH! THAT'S WHEN YOU KEEP GOING.

I have worked up a good sweat to the point when I have to blow off beads that roll freely down my brow. Hell, I have had a cramp in my arm that was on fucking fire, but I could feel that I was close, so I persevered for the cause. That little bit of pain is worth the pleasure - every time.

Anyway, I certainly think she is closer than she's ever been; the key to cracking her big O safe is just around the corner. She definitely gave it a good shot, and I think the more she gets comfortable with exploring her own boundaries and then pushing those boundaries, she will finally explode. Although, she's now going to have to get her own steel toy. I'm leaving today and there's no fucking way it will be without my njoy. Sorry, but I also have boundaries.

Just relax and it too shall cum... kind of like all those dead baseball players, except they're all mind popping orgasms instead. 

Yes, exactly like that.

They are hot, hot, hot!

Like I mentioned in my last post, I love this time every year because of all the kilted men wandering around my town. Among other things, it's also got me thinking fondly of one of my favorite love scenes...

Rob Roy. Just thinking about them, as she sat on him with her dress and his kilt lifted up, makes me need to cross my legs a little bit. And I don't find that Liam Neeson or Jessica Lange do much for me, but their chemistry together? Is breathtaking. 

Here are some of my other favorite steamy scenes from movies. I will openly admit that my list is slightly skewed since I have a long-standing affinity towards period dramas. Deal with it.

9. Dirty Dancing. I once had a little love affair when my family went to one of these foxtrotting resorts, but my pimply canoe instructor sure as hell didn't look or move like Johnny! Also, while I was doing "research" for this post, I came across a deleted scene. Oh my fucking god, it's pretty good (if you're already a fan of Dirty Dancing, anyway).

8. 9 & 1/2 Weeks. Yes, there's a lot of sex in this movie, but it's the kitchen scene that does it for me. I'd never seen grapes, strawberries, cough syrup, jalapenos, pasta or honey look so sexy before this happened...

7. Braveheart. I'm not sure what it says about my character that the scene of his wedding night with Murron did nothing for me, but when he finally makes love to the Princess? Completely hot! Sophie Marceau did an amazing job showing her euphoria just in the first kiss alone.

6. How Stella Got Her Groove Back. There's just something about a good shower scene that helps me fantasize, as well as forget about the physical improbability that it is for me to actually attempt such a feat. Also? Taye Diggs bare arse.

5. Black Swan. In an effort for some equal opportunity, I'm including these next two same-sex love scenes. Mila Kunis does an amazing job giving Natalie Portman that smoldering look of desire like she wants to eat her... and then she does.

4. Brokeback Mountain. The first time Ennis (Heath Ledger) and Jack (Jake Gyllenhaal) give in to their emotions is so fucking powerful. It's their conflicting actions of whether they should or should not be together that is so intense and perfectly executed. The later scene where they reunite is pretty incredible too. They both did an amazing job with this movie.

3. Underworld: Evolution. This is the only vampire sex I will allow myself to get excited about. And let's face it, everyone wanted to see Kate Beckinsale peel off that black pleather body suit. Don't deny it! It certainly helps that Scott Speedman is smoking hot too. Ahem.

2. Thelma & Louise. With Brad Pitt being in such hot scenes like those in Mr & Mrs Smith, Troy, Legends of the Fall, Meet Joe Black, etc, it was a little difficult choosing only one. But since this one with Geena Davis was such a pivotal moment that shot his career to the forefront, I thought I would give it the honorary spot.

1. The Scarlet Letter. Having been a huge fan of Gary Oldman for a very, very long time, I'd have to say that he is at his ultimate height of sex appeal in this movie. The tension between him and Hester (Demi Moore) builds so fluidly in this interpretation of the Hawthorne novel. Perhaps it's just the perfect golden sexual trifecta for me: Corsets, Pastors and Gary Oldman, but whatever it is, it gets me biting my bottom lip every time. Hot, hot, hot!

And although it didn't make it to the above Top Ten "Hot" list, this is probably thee most, ummm, enjoyable sex tape EVER released. Whether you've seen Bridesmaids or not, this is the extended version which includes a self-tased vagina, so... you're welcome?

 

Bridesmaids Sex Tape - watch more funny videos

Colour Me Kilted

This past weekend was the Highland Games in my wee little town, and do you know what that means? Lots and lots of men wearing kilts. More kilts than I'd ever seen at one time, and that's speaking from someone who's lived in Scotland! (Many Scotsmen that I know actually find kilts vulgar and cliché, including my grandfather and father-in-law.) But since I'm not a Scot or a man, I say bring it on!

It reminds me of this time in high school: We had one particular friend in our group that was good looking. Well, that's putting it lightly - he was fucking stunning. He looked a lot like Brad Pitt, but without the "I've been beaten to a pulp numerous times" look. I cannot deny that being arm-in-arm with him at a bar made me feel like hot shit as women would approach him to ask for his autograph, thinking that he actually was Brad (yes, that happened.. twice).

He was a genuinely nice guy too, which just made him more desirable. Friendly, artistic, smart, funny and musical. What can I say, he made my brain soft. It was around the same time in my life when I had to start wearing pantiliners that I also sat next to him everyday in Art class. Coincidence? Doubtful. Ahem.  He didn't seem to affect my other friends as deeply as he did me, (perhaps because they had been going to school with him for a lot longer than myself) but for whatever the reason, I learned to keep my cool around him for the most part...

Until the day he wore a kilt.

He showed up to school in a plain white t-shirt, black Doc Martens and a Macgregor kilt. It was definitely not a fashion statement that was seen every day in 1996 and I doubt anyone but him could have pulled it off without being made a laughing stock. He was already known for his eccentricities, in addition to his alarmingly good looks, so this hardly got more than a few double takes.

In the middle of the main foyer, crammed with approximately 100 other students all rushing to their respective classes, I snuck up behind him and lifted up the back of his kilt.

Beautiful. Bare. Ass.

He wasn't even startled. He slowly turned around, smiled at my flaming beet-red face and laughed, "You look surprised. Commando's the only way to wear a kilt, darling."

In-fucking-deed.

Sadly, that glorious two seconds would be the one and only time I would get a glance at that man's under carriage, so to speak. Hindsight is painfully 20/20 because if I had known that, and however much I really do appreciate a nice ass, I wish I had lifted up the front.

Instead, I'll just hold on to that regret thought and masturbate to this photo...

Let's get political, shall we?

It's very rare that I get political on my blog, mainly because Canadian politics is about exciting as watching two snails fuck. But hey there, I just spent 5 days in the great land to the south, which was more than long enough to be exposed and affected by the looming presidential campaign.

While we were driving down the I-whatevernumber highway, there were actually a few moments when I wasn't asleep in the passenger seat. Call it a messed up case of serendipity, because during one of those times, we passed a billboard that looked like this...

The. Fuck.

I winced and let out a moan so horrific that my husband jumped a little in his seat thinking that I was about to shit out a demon.

(Just a short while ago, I remember that Lost in Idaho spotted this billboard WHICH WAS EVEN WORSE, but I didn't have the displeasure of witnessing that one first hand, thank gawd.)

I've pretty much exhausted my mind being angry/upset/heartbroken over this so I'm going to try to keep this fairly brief.

*clears throat*

THESE TWO ISSUES SHOULD NEVER BE ELECTION PLATFORMS. PERIOD.

Why do I even have to say this? The very fact that they are still "issues" are extremely upsetting to me to begin with. Unless you are actually gay or Pro-Choice (which obviously these billboards are NOT aimed towards), these issues do not affect the day-to-day well being of your family as American citizens whatsoever!

A president "SHOULD" be elected because they can improve and/or maintain your family's security, whether it be economically, socially, or otherwise.

Healthcare.
Employment.
National debt.
Foreign Policy (to an extent).
Education.
Social Security.
Gun control.

These are all valid electoral platforms.

Whether David and Mike (who have lived together across the street for over a decade) can legally get married, or whether 14 year old knocked up Nancy from next door is allowed to safely choose to stay pregnant or not... is... guess what? NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS. If Dave & Mike get hitched, or Nancy gets an abortion, be not afraid — the price of gas won't go up as a result of either events. Humm...

Source {ology.com}

I know I've said this on The Twitter a long time ago, and today I will say it again: I don't care if the leader of my country is a Pagan worshiping cross-dresser who likes to be choked a little bit whilst taking it up the ass, but if he/she can ensure my children have safe streets to play on, an affordable education and a roof over our heads, I don't given a flying fuck. Why? Because their personal opinions, tastes, preferences and desires are none of my business. And equally mine shouldn't be any of their concern either. It seems obvious enough to me, doesn't it?

I guess not.

I'm not even saying that you cannot have these opinions. You are entitled to your opinion, even if you're wrong. Ahem. You don't agree with gay marriage or abortion? Fine. But you cannot and must not dictate how someone else lives their life by forcing your opinion upon them. When this happens, basic human rights are forfeited and it ceases to be a free country.*

This is the year 20-motherfucking-12 and there's a chance the world could smash into a comet tomorrow anyway, so can everyone keep out of each other's personal business and elect a president for reasons that are actually relevant to successfully governing an entire country?

Thanks in advance,

Lady E


PS. Love your outlet malls.

PPS. I'd also like to note the sponsorship of that particular billboard, which I think The Bearded Iris might agree that it just twists the knife of this ridiculous message that much further, don't you think? Ugh.

*Please do not misconstrue this statement as an argument that can be used for gun control. No one has ever died because they accidentally jumped in front of a gay marriage.


//end rant.

The Quick & the Dread

A BlogHer '12 Experience

It was an early Friday morning and since I had not been partying the night before, I was there really early. This turned out to be a blessing, since one of the only people there earlier than me was Alexandra. It was calm and lovely and exactly how I prefer to talk with people - especially a person I admire just so damn much. Breakfast was relatively civilized and divine, while also meeting A Lady in France, Marinka, Two Busy, Avitable, Suniverse, Buried With Kids and many others.

Then, the chaos happened. In my brain.

Very quickly, thousands of women began filtering into the conference hall and my brain began to short circuit. I don't know if it was my ADD shifting into super-sonic bat crap crazy mode, but I was hearing every single conversational humm, squeal and laugh. I was on over-stimulation meltdown.

I found myself wandering around looking for people for a big chunk of the time. Because I was only there for the one day, I really wanted to meet everyone that I have grown to love so much, whether through this blog and/or The Twitter. Perhaps I tried too hard to achieve my goal, but I'm a gawd damn over-achiever, so because of that, I felt quite rushed and anxious for a big part of the day. Crap.

If I introduced myself by my alias, people would ask me, "Ahh, but what's your REAL name?" Then, if I introduced myself by my real name, people would ask, "Huh?" So that was an interesting social experiment. Lady Estrogen won out, for sure :)

And there was lunch. 

Saying that lunch was impressive would be an understatement, since The Next Martha totally went above and beyond with an amazing centerpiece. She over-achieved the FUCK outta me! Ever the gracious hostess, darling. Apart from that, I also got to briefly chat with Ooph, The Bitchin Wife, Ann Imig and Toy With Me (among others). Seriously, it's mostly a blur. I'm impressed that I have managed to remember this many people so far! Oooh, yeah... and Martha Stewart was FABULOUS. She really does have her perfectly groomed fingers into absolutely everything! I bow to her greatness.

Ahhh, yes. My special packages. After totally FREAKING out in New Jersey while I was stranded at a train station in 102 degree weather with 50 Lady Godiva chocolates in my suitcase, they miraculously all made it to BlogHer. I was so excited to give these to the wonderful ladies that I had met - it was the LEAST I could do to show my admiration to each and every one of you! I swear to god that I didn't have them with me when I saw Adam Avitable, so suck it! But I did have them when I got to ambush meet The Bearded Iris.

The "Sessions" were OK and although the premise behind them was great, the whole "Wait, you didn't sign up on this sheet first?" chaos was a bit intense. And it wasn't just me - there were a whole lotta newbie chickens bobbing around the corridors mumbling, "What the fuck's going on?" which was hilarious to watch and admittedly be a part of. Then I ditched and hung out with Suniverse, checked out some panels and we brought on the bitch, together. Wurd.

Then there were drinks.

Another personal highlight was just hanging out with The Animated Woman and chatting with booze being imbibed. Apart from gaining a true "IRL" friend, I also got this... which is by far the best swag I received:

My arms have never looked better! Snort. What is that I'm holding? That is the Trojan Pulse, which they were handing out like candy. Speaking of candy, did I mention MY package also had that too, because I'm a fucking marketing whore-slash-genius. Suck on THAT, Trojan!

I tried to stay for Listen to Your Mother "Open Mic" for a little while. After FINALLY meeting two of my heroes, Mama Kat and Scary Mommy, I couldn't stay much longer. There was no gong OR giant cane dragging people off stage if they went way (way, way) over their allotted 5 minutes. What the shit?! I wanted a gong; it needed a gong... at times.

And Sparklecorn happened.

Drinks being $13 a shot made having 8 drink tickets fan-fucking-tastic. Hello, New York City prices! The music was spot on - they soooo knew their target audience. It was like a high school dance party, but we didn't have to hid the alcohol in a flask down our pants. I finally got dance (to Vanilla Ice) with Mommy NaniBooboo. Whut, whut! And got some hugs from Michonblog, Tough Cookie Mom, The818, and Whatnowandwhy. And by 1 o'clock in the morning, I was spent!

To wrap this shit up -- 

All in all, it was a cool but busy time; I will indeed be going back next year. My main goal at BlogHer 2012 wasn't to get help with technical issues or re-fuel my blogging engines -- it was to meet people, but I ended up spending too much time trying to find them and not enough actually meeting them. I have posted the few photos I managed to get on my Facebook page. Check those out!

Because I was so fucking lost half the time, I still have 4 of my special packages left! It seems a shame to not give them away! If you were at BlogHer '12 and didn't manage to find me (or even if you weren't there and really want one), leave me a comment and we'll work something out.

5 Things for BlogHer 2013 in Chicago...

1. I will sit my fat ass at a centrally located numbered table and drink for 3 STRAIGHT HOURS. I so want to meet everyone, but I don't have it in me to play cat & mouse again next year -- it stressed me out beyond these words.

2. I will save up and go for the ENTIRE conference.

3. I WILL BE ON A PANEL. (Or at least, I will attempt to be more motivated to follow through with my application to be on a panel, now that I know what they're all about.)

4. Since it will not be my first one, I vow to be more relaxed, more happy-go-lucky... and probably much more intoxicated.

5. I will be designing a "Sausage Queen of Chicago" special edition Blogher'13 t-shirt, because HOLY SHIT, THAT'S SO DAMN HILARIOUSLY AWESOME.


************
I'm going to shamelessly quote Avitable's blurb right now:
I know I left out a lot of people in this post, but that’s because of me, not you – don’t hesitate to chime in in the comments and give me hell for forgetting you!
************

Rolling in it... again!

A couple months ago, I shared the precious gift of money that my grandmother gave me. I still haven't hauled that booty to the bank, by the way. I'm waiting for just the right time -- when I'm reeeally hurtin'. I stopped in last weekend for another visit and as usual, there's not a dull moment.

She just had to tell me how annoying her evening was, since one of the women that "doesn't have any marbles left" fell and badly hit her face. It was annoying, of course, due to the fact that all the hubbub that surrounded the incident caused my grandma's dinner to be late................ .......!!

Then I asked her if she new anything about the funky house that is being built across the street from her residence. (It is seriously cool. Not sure if it fits with the surrounding properties, but cool nevertheless.) She just waved her hands away and groaned, "Pssfft, probably a couple of queers moving in."

As we were eating, the chef came out to greet the residents and their guests; he's East Indian. As he walked away, my grandmother yelled, "My god, he is black, black, black... in't he?"

She was on a roll, people.

Speaking of rolls, after lunch she winked and handed me another present before I left. It looked like this:

Within our family, she is quite famous for these packages. Usually, they contain already opened boxes of crackers that she decided she didn't like, or buckets of yogurt that will be expiring within the next 24 hours, or even bananas.

Oh, sweet Jesus... the fucking bananas.

Let's just say she doesn't pack them inside those phallic yet effective travel containers. A few years ago, I put my foot down with the banana donations. Even with this package -- the fact that she put that note on it is a good indicator that it contains something that I'd likely not want to take home with me, but I have to be honest, I was totally expecting bananas.

So, like the obedient grand daughter that I am, I waited until I got home to open her mystery package...

Toilet paper.

And not just any toilet paper - stolen toilet paper from her residence.

I called her to question her motives, "Grandma... really? What's with the toilet paper?"

She giggled, "Well, you can't tell me you doing need that. Everyone poops, darling."

-------------------------------------------------------------
Update. Just got off the phone with her today (Tuesday) and she hopes that every time I wipe my butt, I think of her....
Not. Fucking. Kidding.
Oh, this woman ;)
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The Tsaritsa said... what?

Greetings and salutations, Lady Estrogen readers! My name is Alexandra. I have a blog called The Tsaritsa Sez, and I have a confession to make: I suck at story telling.

Before you click out of this post, please let me clarify: I'm not speaking of my skills in spinning a written yarn, or shooting the breeze with friends and family. My problem is that I can be quite a Nervous Nelly around people who I am just meeting for the first time. I tend to put my foot in my mouth, stutter, say something nonsensical, and generally act like a overly-caffeinated spazoid. It doesn't happen all the time, but it happens enough to be simultaneously frustrating and entertaining.

Just the other day I was trying to describe a funny scene from my favorite TV show, Psych, to my friend Jillian and her friend Anna, who I had only met once before, and I just. couldn't. spit. it. out. I stumbled all over my words, dropped in a lot of "you know"s and "uuuhmmmm"s, and by the time I got to the end I could see that no one really cared or understood what I was trying to convey. Unintelligible-- that's me when I get nervous.

This isn't an uncommon issue. There are plenty of people who get nervous when they have to speak in front of others, which is why improv acting, speech-writing classes, and toast-master groups are so popular, to train people to overcome that anxiety. This might be totally made up, but I heard somewhere that people fear public speaking more than they do death (makes sense, as death is inevitable, but you can sure get out of having to give a speech if you feign a sore throat convincingly enough). 

What is kind of silly about my story-telling flubbage is the fact that I love acting and being on stage. I'm a natural ham.

So what's the problem when it comes to recounting something to a new acquaintance? Maybe it's the close proximity? Maybe I'm worried about how my breath smells? Or maybe it's because I'm too busy wondering if the other person is understanding me correctly and hopefully not thinking I'm a weirdo that the section of my brain that gives me the ability to string together an intelligible and cohesive sentence gets neglected? I have no idea.

One especially funny situation happened when I was fifteen years old and working at the Rita's Water Ice stand on South Street. It was summer, the weather was excruciatingly hot and humid, and there was some big basketball championship going on between the Philadelphia 76ers and the LA Lakers, so there were a lot of people in town, and thus a lot of people perusing the touristy shops of South Street and stopping by Rita's to get a cold treat.

On one of these hot, summer days, I had two guys from Los Angeles come to buy water ice. They told me that they were sports reporters, in town to write about the games, and had never heard of it water ice before but wanted to try it. "It's kinda in-between sorbet and a snow-cone. It's smoother than a snow-cone, but icier than sorbet," I told them. They seemed pleased and picked their flavors, and as I scooped their water ice I tried to think of a funny joke to tell them before they left, you know, just to be fun and give them something to remember about Philadelphia people.

I handed the reporters their ices and, not thinking, said, "Don't worry, I didn't spit in it or anything."

In my head, it kind of made sense. What I thought was implied was: I know you're from Los Angeles and that your city's team is in a big battle with my city's team, but don't worry-- just because we're not rooting for the same team, doesn't mean I would do anything as crazy as spit in your water ice.

It was a pretty dumb thing to say, and might have been funny if I had said it to a friend, but it was not appropriate to say to a stranger, let alone a customer.

The two reporters looked at me, shocked. One of them said to me, clearly disgusted by my attempt at a joke, and said "Great! You didn't spit in it? Is that the slogan here?" I just stared at them with a weak smile,dumbfounded by my own stupidity-- surprised at what I said, and surprised at how they reacted. They walked away with a look of utter horror on their faces.

For reasons which may or may not seem obvious, I haven't told many people this story. I stumble through my words and make bad jokes and say things without thinking on occasion, but this LA/spit ice incident was definitely the worst blunder I've ever made. So embarrassing, which is why I'm telling this story in a guest post.

Thanks for reading! If you like what you've seen so far, please check out my blog. In addition to writing nonsense about the nonsense I encounter, I publish a literary zine and am working on my first hip-hop EP. Much love to Lady Estrogen for letting me share my story on her blog xox

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Thanks so much to The Tsaritsa for hanging out over here this week while I'm slumming it in NYC.
We have been bloggy mates for quite a while now, but it was THIS VIDEO of hers that made me fall in lust. Watch it; so funny! And you'll probably want a peanut butter, Nutella and banana sandwich afterwards - just be warned.