Unfastened Friday 7.0

Nothing good ever happens after 2am

It was another regular Friday night for me, or so I thought. I came home after work, grabbed the keys to my car and headed to the beer store. After I picked up a couple of six packs, I came home and tossed them in the fridge to chill. My plan was to have a few beers, and then walk down the street and grab a few more beers over at the bar & casino.

And so I did. And I had a beer, and a second and a third. Actually, who am I kidding? I can't remember how many I had. After drinking alone, playing a few slots and losing all my money I stumbled out of the casino and started my walk home.

Somewhere along the way home, which is about a 5 minute walk (maybe 10 when intoxicated), I was stopped by this young guy with an accent who asked me what there is to do in this town. In hindsight, I realize what he was asking, even with his thick Scottish accent he was pretty transparent. We chatted for quite some time on the edge of the sidewalk. He told me that he was here to take up some good old Canadian hockey.

Picked the wrong year, mate, but whatever...

It didn't seem to bother me what gibberish he was on about because I was enjoying the chatting. I've been a little lonely, to say the least. I wonder if my loneliness was that obvious, or it could have been the alcohol on my breath. I must have asked him back to my house, I couldn't be sure... but I'm pretty sure. We went on the computer and he showed me where he was from, taught me a little about chewing tobacco and so on… it must have been 2am or later.

The computer? Seriously.

The bars were long closed but luckily I had some beer. I remember him asking me for scotch. (Is that what the Scottish drink?) Anyways, all I could offer him was beer or the bottle of champagne that had been in my fridge since New Year's Eve. He opened the bottle of champagne; the cork popped and we drank the whole bottle.

This is where I black out a bit a lot.

I remember giving him head in the shower. I remember being in my bed and in his Scottish accent, asking me, "Can I fock yeh in th'arse?" My response being a stupered, "You can try but I don't think it's gonna work out so well for you." I'm not exactly interested in the back door, to say the least.

I remember he said to me, "You have'nie had sex in ages, av' ya?"

Umm. That's not a good sign, or is it? I'm not sure anymore, really.

I woke up alone in my bed, hung over and in a panic; the repair man was coming over to fix the a/c any minute! I looked in the mirror, and what a fucking catastrophe -- makeup all smeared down my face, likely from the shower. Why it never occurred to me to wash my face while I was IN THE SHOWER? I don't know. Oh, dear. It was all a bit of a daze.

I frantically called my friend over to help hide/clean up the mess in my apartment and get me looking a little less "smacked around street walkerish", in a manner of words. Just as I washed my face and taken the bottles outside, there was a knock at the door, but I still couldn't find the condom evidence. I was sweating!

After the repair man left, my friend found the champagne cork... and the foil from the Trojan condom. What a good friend, right? Thank heavens, or so I thought. As a recap, in the span of 6 or so hours, I met some Scottish dude, screwed him and woke up in an empty bed covered in mascara. I was feeling a little ashamed of myself; not my best behaviour. I spent the entire day in bed due to being hung over, humiliated and mixed that with my on-going withdrawal symptoms of prescription drugs I had been on.

I am 34 years old. What the fuck? Hello there, mid life crisis. Oooh right, and it appears that my newly found crisis robbed the Scottish cradle, because since I've sobered up, I remember him telling me that he was 21... he very well could have been 18. Bloody hell.

WAIT. It gets classier...

I still wasn't feeling great by Tuesday so I went to the doctor's office. I gave him a urine sample and when he came back into my room, his exact words were, "Wow. That looks nasty. You should have come in sooner." Now I'm crossing my fingers and hope that the antibiotics don't make me nauseous or give me a yeast infection, but one things for certain — no more back door experiences EVER. It's just not worth any of it.

~Anonymous

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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) just don't even fill in the "FROM" field or email; it's totally up to you. Either way? DO IT... pretty please.

Shop Locket & Me

I've been so freaking excited this weekend after FINALLY getting around to trying Shop Locket after my "friend in a clay way" suggested it to me ages ago. Holy motherfucking hell. From the time I created an account to the time I saw my arts n' crafts being pimped on this site right here (look to your right) was no longer than 15 minutes. "OK, but you're a giant nerd," is what you might be thinking but I promise you, it was no harder to use than uploading images and comments to Facebook.

"But Lady E, what the fuck does it do?"

It helps you sell your shit. Plain and simple. Ohhh yes, so damn simple.

The reason why I think it's so amazing is because I know many of us create something every now and again. . . but then to sell it? Get exposure? Set up a storefront on Etsy just for one item? Seems illogical and extremely annoying, if you ask me. It doesn't even have to be something that you have "handmade" - it can be anything you want to sell, period.

Yes, it does have processing fees like Etsy, but they aren't up-front. Etsy makes MILLIONS of dollars from artists and crafters that very often don't even sell a single item. Etsy is like a beautiful but evil Siren that lures you in with her sexy, crafty wiles and then drowns you. . . but not before she takes your money. Shop Locket functions more on a "consignment based" business model, which works out just fine for me.

I know art is expensive and it is a slow sell (which is why I don't own an art gallery), but here's the thing – 48hrs ago, it was sitting in my office being seen by no one. Now? It's up for sale on this site and since Shop Locket tracks views, it's telling me I have had over 250 impressions this weekend. I don't know of many art galleries around here that could have done that for me anyway. It's pretty fucking fabulous!

Shop Locket integrates with your existing PayPal account, so if someone actually does eventually buy something off my site, it will go nice and smoothly. There are advanced settings for tax and shipping as well, if required. It's got what you need, baby!

I realize that, as bloggers, we write for the love of writing (hopefully) first and foremost, but let's get down to brass tacks here, people – making some money from our other talents anything short of street walkin' should be made easier, and I believe Shop Locket has done that, and then some.

"But Lady E, I don't even have a blog!"

It doesn't matter. It's true that I am quite smitten with the fact that I can embed my for sale items right into my website, but apart from PayPal, all you need is Twitter, Facebook or Pinterest (or all of them, if you so desire) and you can whore out your items through those social media platforms. No website required.

So, do you crochet the shit out of a scarf? Or perhaps cross-stitch lovely phrases?

Screen printed onto some boards you stole from a construction site?

Everyone that participated in Craft Whores will have something glorious to offer the world, I'm sure of it. 

WELL, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? 

PUT IT UP FOR SALE ON YOUR BLOG, LIKE, RIGHT NOW.

For realzies, though. Try it, you'll like it!

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This is not a sponsored post. Like I said on The Twitter, I pimp when things deserve to get pimped.

This is one of those times.

The End of Days: A Preview

For the last few months, a Canadian national retailer has been dying a slow and seemingly painful death. The strange thing is that I've never even liked Zellers – their products and customer service sorely lacked in quality compared to their American competitors. I wish is wasn't the truth but that has been my experience.

FINALLY, it's the end of days for Zellers. Every week, the savings increase by 10% and the scavengers come flocking. Of course, I had to check it out every week – especially since I have twins, so buying everything in duplicate sure helps when it's 50-80% OFF. We got 2 new tricycles for $30 each. Score!

(I don't know this kid, but he was more than eager to pose for me.)

Then, I did something that I might not be overly proud of – I went to another Zellers and then another, and another to check out their spoils of a defeated retail war. My grandmother's obsessive shopping gene kicked in, which is my only line of defense at this time. I journeyed to one particularly close to The Big Smoke where the population is a lot more dense (in volume, not intelligence maybe), and this is what I found:

Which perhaps isn't too bad for those of you non-OCD people, but then I turned around and saw this:

Fuck that, yo!

People scrounging through merchandise on the floor. Throwing it, stepping on it, kicking items aside, treating it like it was a free-for-all! If this is what the Apocalypse (Zombie or otherwise) would look like, I just hope I go out quickly, because I have no patience for this fucking chaos. Not one bit. I love a good bargain as much as the next person, but if the shelves are in disarray and there's no civilized shopping to be had, please just put me out of my misery, because this made my heart hurt:

A world without organized, freshly re-stocked merchandise is not a world that I'd be interested in. Period.

And without further adieu. . .

Dear gods of Target,

Please hurry up and give this store a baptism of fire 
before you even think of moving in; just take my word for it.
Looking forward to being inside you!

Thanks.

Sincerely,
Lady E

Craft Whores, Of Course

Here we go, people! It's time to link up your Craft Whore creations (from now until September 20th). Check out The Suniverse and The Bearded Iris for all the juicy details on the prizes and who are the highly esteemed judges. Well, they are definitely esteemed, still not 100% sure about the high part, but nevertheless, they agreed to do it.

One of the only best things about being an art teacher was having my own dark room and kiln. I was sad to say goodbye to all that free access and almost unlimited state-funded supplies when I left the teaching profession, but there you have it. Then, about 6 months ago, I made a new friend... I mean, an IN REAL LIFE friend, you guys! I know it's hard to believe but it totally happened. PLUS, she's a potter, with her own shop, studio, kiln -- the motherfucking works!

She's like a friend with benefits, 

but in a clay way, not in a gay way.*

Between my new found friendship with ceramic perks and this upcoming crafting challenge, I decided I'd through my hat back into the pottery game and make some vagina candle holders. Why candle holders, you ask? Because I remembered these wise words:

So, of course I'm going to make special vagina candle holders! It's one of my most favorite analogies, thus making my choice fairly easy, once I really thought about it.

Look! It's like she's glowing... 

Not surprisingly, they were quite enjoyable to make and pending that these beautiful little bitches survive the final glazing process, they will be all smooth and shiny! Since I hand sculpt them (and being true to life), no two will be exactly a like. Ahem.

I have offered one of these up for a prize in this fabulous contest. Plus, if you want to buy one completely apart from the contest, please leave a comment below or send me an email and I will make more and hook you up.

Remember, Christmas is coming, yo!

Nothing says that you care quite like a vagina candle holder.

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* Flight of the Concords joke. If you haven't seen this, please do - right here, now. GO!
OK, maybe leave a comment first, but then go.

Vagina on Fire

(Alternate title: The Antibiotics Lament)
Please feel free to sing this to the tune of Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon. . . 

Ya know, if you want.

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It's like my vaj's dying

I hope no one's around

I shouldn't be scratchin' 

But I'm scratchin'

Applying the lotion

The hubs wants to play 

But I'm cock blockin' 

Blockin'

Yaa-ho

My vaj is on fire

In the darkness of my valley

There'll be no foreplay 

This yeast is thrivin' 

It's thrivin' 

I'm really hopin' 

That Vagisil's on sale. 

It feels like I'm dyin' 

I'm dyin'

Yaa-ho

My vaj is on fire

Consumed

With an itch that is dire 

Hot as a fever

Down in my zone

Don't taste it 

What the fuck is wrong with you? 

It's not forever 

It's just my current plight 

I just had the greatest, 
The greatest. . .
Scratch of my life. 

Yaa-ho

My vaj is on fire

Yaa-ho

My vaj is on fire

Yaa-ho

My vaj is on fire

Consumed

With an itch that is dire

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I have also posted over at In The Powder Room! It's about trying to find gawd damn Wall.E toys in NYC (or anywhere other than eBay for that matter). Let's just say that it was good motherfucking times.

I Wank for Red Bank!

Ever since the first time (and subsequently the 1000th time) that I watched Clerks, Chasing Amy, Dogma and Jersey Girl Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back Clerks 2), I knew that one day I would have to make the trip down to Red Bank, New Jersey.

We first punched in the address from Manhattan, NYC to the Quick Stop in Leonardo, New Jersey and off we went. Since I was still suffering from a moderate hangover from BlogHer, I slept most of the way. As we finally approached this View Askew landmark, even my husband said he got half a stock. Sweet!

I bought a Starbucks iced mocha and some mints. The cash register was the same one and when it "chu-chu-chinged" I was pretty fulfilled, both spiritually and emotionally.

It is currently a vacant shop where the video store was during Clerks. This graffiti was on the window, which I felt was quite appropriate since it gave me an excuse to yell, "BUNCH OF SAVAGES IN THIS TOWN!"

There wasn't much point in hanging around, so off we went to Red Bank to shop at Jay and Silent Bob's Secret Stash. Seriously, is this how kids feel when they go to Disney World? Because I was so fucking giddy that I was probably a bit out of control... especially when we crossed the street and saw this sign in the front window...

So, this one was done with a marker and not shoe polish, but it's still awesome nevertheless. 

Then we went inside and immediately got ignored by Walt. It was like being with family!

Ahhh, Brodie. Remember when Jason Lee was a hot piece of ass? 

Before he had a son and named him Pilot Inspektor? (Shaking my head) Yes, back then! Yum.

When I saw this sign on the wall, I yelled, "Your mother's a tracer!" 

and my husband side stepped away and pretended like he didn't know me.

In the very back of the shop, the life sized Buddy Christ stood reverently behind glass. 

It's probably the only Jesus statue I have wanted to kneel before in about 2 decades.

It's all about the details: I saw this at the bottom of Buddy Christ and laughed... very loudly.

And this poster? By fuck, I want it. I had a Catholicism WOW! t-shirt (and a mini Buddy Christ) when Dogma was first released, but this is so much better than that. Also, posters are one size fits all, and that works in my favor too.

I did manage to get the Leonardo t-shirt that I was hoping for, as well as a Leonardo dancing bear sticker for my car. 

I think my husband enjoyed being dragged along too, if for no other reason that to witness his wife behaving like a ridiculous awe-struck adolescent.

But all gawking aside, seriously, Kevin -- 

you, me and Lauren Collins need to get shit sorted out for the Last Scion idea that I have, for real.

Have your people call my people. I'm on The Twitter.

Nooch.

Introducing: What's your damage?

There's this crazy guy that I met through Dude Write that goes by The Birdman and has a blog at Change The Topic... and ya know what? He and his wife are damn good people! I have a bloggy crush on both of them, but I won't say which one I like more. *cough* Aaaanyway, The Birdman has already been doing a feature called Therapy Thursday and when we got to talking, I was all like, "Hey! I was just thinking that I really want to start doing something like that too on my blog." He was awesomely generous enough to hand over the rungs at his place to dip my toes in, especially since he already had some letters that obviously needed some of Lady E's tender loving care -- so here it goes, drum rolls please -- this is officially the very first What's Your Damage? feature!

Here is an excerpt from the submission:

I recently become a father for the first time 2 months ago, Around a month before this, the mother of my child ended our relationship. This came completely out of the blue to me as there were no signs that anything was wrong. I attributed it to depression etc. Anything to rationalize it and convince myself it was temporary. I've since realised that, although she has told me I did nothing wrong and she acted solely on her feelings about the future, it was not a temporary thing and there geniunely is nothing more for us...

Please check out Change The Topic to see the the rest of his letter 
and the advice I gave...
PS. Don't listen to Smarty's advice; he's a douchebag ;)

And if YOU have a question, whether it be about sex, relationships or anything in between, please feel free to submit directly to me from this site (100% confidentially, if you like -- just don't fill in the name or email).

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Thanks for reading; comments are closed today.

Smurfs & Mormons Beware

It was a full moon this weekend; no big deal. It was also a BLUE moon, which is kind of a big deal, so I'm sure somewhere some Smurf enthusiasts are all soaking their little tighty whities. The fucking Smurfs. Have you seeeeen that movie? Anyways, I have always found it fascinating that the lunar cycle has the ability to affect us one way or another... especially us ladies, uterinally speaking, of course... because this happened...

I don't know if it was a combination of all things lunar, or because I've been playing way too much Words With Friends with Brandon, or even whether it was just a simple case of eating an unnatural amount of pistachios on Saturday night, but whatever the reason, I had a seriously fucked up dream that I need to share with you:

I was 19. I was at a gas station that looked like somewhere right out of 1980's middle America. It was dusty and dry. There was a young teen girl in a bland cotton dress being mildly harassed by the gas station attendant, and even though I couldn't quite make out their argument, I briskly walked over to defend the girl since she appeared to be on the verge of crying. The misunderstanding wasn't explained but I went into the service booth with the scruffy attendant that was wearing a jumpsuit that hadn't looked like it had been washed in a month.

We didn't even talk about the girl. He whipped out a huge water bong and asked me if I wanted a hit. I was impressed at the contraption and said, "Sure." So we were there, the two of us, hot boxing the booth while the girl stood on the curb stared at me with her admiring doe eyes, which were slightly glazed over and puffy from stress and fighting back tears.

Then, the guy told me to take the bong, which transformed into an electric scooter! He quickly showed me how I could ride it and then dismount to take a hit, and then continue riding again.

I left with my new scooter bong and the girl was relieved to see me, as if I had saved her from something I still wasn't quite sure of. She invited me to come stay with her family, and being curious and a little stoned, I agreed. When we arrived at her house, it was made very obvious to me that it was a polygamist Mormon family compound... and there were many, many, many children. Most of them all carried a strong family resemblance, particularly in their noses and chins.

There were about 16 that immediately and overly-enthusiastically came up to greet me, kind of like the end scene in Temple of Doom when all the kids are running towards their parents. Without even thinking, I transformed my scooter and taught all these kids how to smoke weed from the water bong.

Every sibling over the age of 14 was now high. I didn't give any to the younger ones, because apparently, even in my dreams, my anti-morals have limitations. Then the father rang some kind of obnoxious bell to round up everyone for a teaching session. Giggling, we all stumbled in, myself included. We entered a fairly large classroom full of desks and chairs. The room quickly filled with both boys and girls of all ages; the girls were dressed like Mennonites and the boys like a stereotypical Missionaries with black pants and white shirts. At every work-space sat a very sleek computer. After some brief introductions and minimal instructions from their father, he left the room. I then spoke out and asked about the "bullshit parental controls" on these computers. They said it was protect their innocence.

I said, "Well, just Google key image words like 'pretty holly' and 'sweet candy' to get around those filters and they could check out some fairly good boob shots; maybe even some bush!"

I was sitting in the far back row beside one of the eldest sons, who looked to be about 22 and was one of the better looking of the brothers. We flirted instantly and while the two of us were testing out different words to surf for online porn, I unzipped his black pleated cotton trousers and gave him a hand job.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

And all this is why I cannot be trusted, even in a subconscious world far, far away.

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And since I mentioned The Suniverse today, her and The Bearded Iris are having an awesome contest called Craft Whores.

Intrigued yet? 

Damn right, you should be! Click on one of their links for the details. I'm too much of a lazy bitch to steal re-write all their hard work. Basically, make crafty shit that is good n' whorish & then link up to win. YAY!!