Phalli for everyone!

I was minding my own business, partaking in my latest addiction which is the Etsy phenomenon, (I know Brandon feels my pain on this front.) when I came across this necklace. It's made of two of my favorite materials - Sterling silver and coral - but this one? This one just didn't look quite right...

I couldn't see myself wearing an infected, detached penis around my neck, even if it was hand-crafted and hypo-allergenic (although I might argue that last feature). I would hypothesize that the jeweler was perhaps oblivious to its rather obvious phallic reference, but it got me thinking:

HOW ELSE CAN I WASTE MORE TIME AND SEE WHAT ELSE IS ON ETSY THAT CATERS TO THE MALE'S MIGHTY SWORD? 

Oh! Here we go! I whittled it down into a super classy top ten for everyone. 

You're most welcome.

9. Penis pouch:

8. Crocheted Willypillies:

7. Penis soap:

6. Tiny Penis Bottle:

I had to include the listing info for this one...

"It's just a little prick."

5. Flying Penis:

4. Genital Earrings:

3. The Lovers:

2. Cunt necklace:

OK. So there is no phallus in this, but I loved the description so much...

It may be a bit on the bliggin' ghetto side, but it's kinda me... RIGHT?

But thee best - the one that stole my heart...

1. Black penis ring:

I cannot WAIT until hubs comes home and sees a black cock in me on me.

Totally.

Footy Porn

As I am sitting here getting a rare opportunity to watch Aussie Rules Footy, it has occurred to me that in 3 years I have not yet mentioned my, ummm, let's go with "enthusiasm" for the game.

I had always been interested in sports, and I had a favorite team in most professional leagues (sometimes I switched teams... ba dum bum bum) but it was never more than a strong liking. It wasn't until I was taken to my first footy match that I truly understood what LOVE for a sport meant. The entire crowd was completely submerged in the game - and never came up for air.

Every kick.
Every mark.
Every goal.

Every second of every quarter, the roar of 98,000 people rumbled in the pit of my stomach.

And I fucking loved it.

The first game I ever saw (on TV or in person) was Collingwood V Geelong in 1994 and since I was there with Jim, who was a Collingwood supporter, and because I didn't know what the hell was going on, I assimilated his allegiance. And then they won... and the crowd went totally fucking berserk. Well, hell yeah! That's my kind of people - for the most part.

I quickly learned that Collingwood supporters are THEE most obnoxious fans in the entire league and if you don't follow them, then you HATE them; they are the most hated team in the league. They would be likened to that of the Oakland Raiders -- when anyone actually cared about American Football, that is.

If you love the Magpies, you REALLY love them, like this guy...

Yeah, that.

OKAY. So, I might not be THAT insane, but I absolutely love wearing my Magpies' scarf/hat/jacket in Toronto - especially on public transit. It draws out Australians like a magnet of hatred. I cannot even count the number of times a complete stranger has come up to me, just to tell me that Collingwood sucks! 

And I fucking loved it.

I learned the sport quickly, and I tried out for the high school team and made it. It was great times! But I must admit, I rather preferred sitting on the side lines to watch my boyfriend (Oops. Every time that is said, a feminist shaves her pits!) while he ran his cute, tight ass up and down the oval.

After I had moved back to Canada, he would mail me photos of him playing - it was like my porn, my footy porn, and those photos may or may not have gotten a little sticky. Ahem.

The typical guy that plays Aussie Rules has all these wonderful features:
1. Big arms
2. Big thighs
3. Tight, small ass
Oooh yes, and...
4. If they moaned my name, it would have an aussie droll.

My knees? Weak.

It's the only thing that's ever successfully hypnotized me. True story.

And being an exchange student did have its perks - because after writing a cheesy letter to their club, they invited me to come after a game and MEET ALL THE PLAYERS.

And I died.

Then later that night (possibly not thinking entirely about him), I rode my boyfriend like a wild stallion.

Holy hell, I sure do love Australian football.

Go Pies!

Got Brand?

UnMarketing

On Friday, I was off to see John Morgan and Scott Stratten speak about branding and marketing while whoring their books -- which was totally cool, because if John's book, Brand Against the Machine, is even half as good as Scott's UnMarketing, then they are worth all the whoring possible.

I will passively harass Scott over on The Twitter every now and then, so I was looking forward to meeting him in person. He was a lot more tattooed than I pictured... but then again, I was probably rounder, so it's all good.

I should also remind everyone that I have severe A.D.D. and I slept through most of University (Slide shows in the dark every morning for 3 hours? I mean, come on!), so I am happy to report that both speakers have a fantastic stage presence and their points were clear and concise. I openly admit that I also do not read a whole hell of a lot and I told Scott that his book was the first that I had read since Harry Potter - which is the truth. And now that I have John Morgan's book, it shall be next.

I'm not going to divulge into their messages and opinions on Farmville, Angry Birds, Pinterest or Happy Cracks (don't ask)... but I will say that if you are interested in marketing, social media and/or branding strategies, these guys know their shit and they share their experiences with humor and sincerity, and delivered their explanations and visuals without any douchebagery.  

And yes, Scott, you can testimonial the fuck outta that quote.

I will share three tidbits that I learned - and of course, as soon as I got home, I went to test two of them out. Although I do not do Pinterest WHATSOFUCKINGEVER, there's a little trick that you can do to see if anything from your own site has ever been pinned. If you type in the address http://pinterest.com/sources/*your-url-dot-com* you can learn this information, just like this...

YAY! 3 people loved me enough to pin me. Thank you, @Talk2Q, @VBinCatalunya and @JenAnnHall for pinning me! I feel honored AND slightly violated at the same time... but I like it.

I'm still not going to do Pinterest.

Secondly, I logged on to TweetStats.com and (after quite a waiting queue) I got some alarming stats about how much I am on The Twitter. Apparently, a whole fucking lot! I effortlessly tweet over FOUR HUNDRED TIMES A DAY - I honestly estimated in my head about 60-100 before I got the results. I was more shocked at this then when I was told my actual daily calorie intake.

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REVISION: Turns out, I should have read the fucking chart before I freaked out - this is a TOTAL, showing my trending days on when I tweet the most. THANK FUCK. I really couldn't figure out how I tweeted 400 in a day. In actuality, my average is 56 tweets per day/ 1075 per month. Yeah! I'm not a complete loser, just a dumb blonde. *cough*

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My ONLY consolation is that 73.83% of my tweets are replies - which, according to Scott - is a good thing because I'm being social, not a soap-boxing prick. Mmmm, okay. I guess I can live with that.

And finally, I learned one last notable thing that I will share with everyone...

John Morgan: Size Matters

Well... maybe not learned per se, but rather reiterated.

Ahem.

Great job, gentlemen, truly. I didn't even yawn once, for realzies.

I have a special copy of "THE REVISED VERSION" of UnMarketing for one of my lucky commenters. It's special because it has a very spectacular message signed in person by Scott, just for the lucky winner!

So. Fucking. Awesome.

And Scott! Next time, I'm thinking more like The Thirsty Penguin, mmmk? Cheers.

Platypi out of nowhere!

Here's the thing - work is disgusting at the moment. I've been walking around in a fog for the past 3 weeks. Once tax season is over, I might be able to function vaguely like a normal person. I'm going to take this opportunity to share some drawings that a "friend" of mine has done. She usually does characters and books for the kidlets, but she also creates ones for the mature grown-ups, such as us... right? Ahem.

Here are my Top Ten characters - I hope you enjoy as much as I do! 

Here's the catch - list all 10 names (or as many as you can) in the comments and you will be entered to win a customized cartoon made for you, or a loved one - whatever you choose. It can be as cute & innocent or as kinky as you like - the sky's the limit, or at least, what she can be bothered trying to draw, but... pretty much anything.

Yay! So fun! 

Good luck, bitches ;)

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I've also been interviewed In The Powderroom today! Check it out, if you want to know more about me. 

(I know, it's a hard sell, but hey, I thought I'd put it out there anyway.) x

Is that you I smell on me?

A few years back, I had encountered a strange side effect to being with a certain partner. After the first time we stripped down to our bare essentials, I could immediately smell that his "natural scent" was quite stronger than most men I had been with. It wasn't body odor or anything repulsive like that, but it was definitely unique. It's also not something you really bring up in conversation when you're in the midst of foreplay.

Hey, you smell weird! Oh well, let's fuck.

Umm, no.

I may be easy, but dammit, I'm polite! I powered through it. Again. And again...

It wasn't specifically contained to his scrotal area either - it permeated from every pore - like a sex panther pheromone.

Yes, that; it was quite pungent. It stung my nostrils in a good way.

The really bizarre side effect happened after a couple weeks of constant skin slapping with said suitor. It transferred on to me - and no amount of showering, bathing or masking it with body spay could get it off.

It was kind of similar to any other bodily scent that you may find mildly repulsive... but then you cannot stop smelling it (like earring jam, farts or yeast infections... wait, whut..). I loved it and completely hated it at the same time.

It was fucked up, yo!

To this day, he's still the only one that could make me climax under 30 seconds with just a simple touch, so perhaps there was some kind of connection there, but who knows. I often see photos of him and his wife on fucking Facebook and every time, I always wonder if she is... well, you know... stinky.

Perhaps it was only temporary and he was just using Date-Mate 2000 at the time:

"Become more sexually attractive 

Have an AMAZING advantage over your friends

Increase your self confidence

Improve business relationships

Guaranteed RESULTS

Get MORE Sex with Nature's own secret weapon!

Use Date Mate 2000 the ULTIMATE female attractant"

So... more importantly, do they have this in a female form?

Ahem.

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I am also guest posting over at Talk 2 Q this week! 
I'm bitching and moaning about how all of us over-educated Gen-X'ers are fucking useless, for the most part.
At least... we can barely change a light bulb without breaking a sweat of anxiety.
Agree? Disagree? Discuss...

Let Your Backbone Slide

Apparently, there's been a mini trend for celebs (like Justin Beeeaver and The Queen) to make an appearance at weddings. That's cool and all, blardy, bar, bar... but THEN... then I saw something pretty motherfucking fantastic on the news yesterday. ->>

That's right, y'all. It's thee one and only Maestro Fresh Wes walking in while the groom is busting away on his (ridiculously famous, if you're Canadian) song, Let Your Backbone Slide.

HOW WICKED IS THE LOOK ON THE GROOM'S FACE?!
(or the bride's, for that matter ;)

LOVE IT.

So, of course I had to spread the love around and tell other people. Then, this was my morning...

My mind? Melted.

I'm not sure why he's calling me Ma... must be a Toronto thing. I've been out of the city for a little while, but it's totally OK. Ya know why? Because he's the fucking Maestro - that's why!

It got me to thinking - what would be the top songs that I love to sing along to (even in public, usually at weddings) and that I would completely lose my shit in the best possible way if these performers made a coincidental appearance to show me how it's done. These are specifically the songs I haven't heard in forever and actually don't even own copies of them (honestly, I don't, except Shoop - I need to start building my back catalog for realzies) but when they come on? Holy shit! I bust it out and sing them word-for-word since I have no shame... and basically because I'm a bat crap crazy white girl like that.

10. Digital Underground

Humpty Dance

9. Young MC

Bust A Move

8. Sir Mix-A-Lot

Baby Got Back (I Like Big Butts)

7. Tone-Lōc

Wild Thing or Funky Cold Medina (They're pretty much the same song)

6. Naughty By Nature

O.P.P.

  

5. DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince

Parent's Just Don't Understand

4. Beastie Boys

So What Cha Want

3. Maestro Fresh Wes

Let Your Backbone Slide

2. House of Pain

Jump Around

And by a landslide, also currently the ONLY song I've ever done (sober) karaoke to...

1. Salt N Pepa

Shoop

So, I'll pass it on to you...

What old school songs make you lose your freaking mind when they come on?

Easter is a Blast'phemous

I don't feel like Christians are self-deprecating enough, so I thought I would take it upon myself to level the playing field. Here's the thing you may (or may not) need to know about me - and that's although I do not go to Church, and I "apparently" partake in many less-than-God-like activities (however, I'm a firm believer that if he didn't want us to feel that good, he wouldn't have built us this way, but I digress.) I do, in fact, believe in God and that there was such a man as Jesus. I'm not afraid of what will happen to me for saying dumb things about him - I believe he's got a wicked sense of humor... I mean, just look at the platypus.*

I have always been good at history and mythology and after one full year of going to Church, I had learned all the stories down to the letter, so when it started over again, I was like, "Whoa. What's this... RE-RUNS?!" And it really annoyed me that the priest had to use a book to read from when I could recite it. Every year after just continually re-affirmed my boredom. Dude! I've heard this one!

I should also mention the whole hypocrisy of organized religion and the disgusting and ignorant things that are carried out 'in the name of religion', but that's a whole different beast. Just watch Dogma, really - and I'll put my giant ditto quotes around the entire underlying message of that movie.

Aaaaaanyhow, after a few of my special Holy Week tweets, I received this:

Really? I have no idea how someone could POSSIBLY make that assumption...

And it's totally true. Not only did my vibrator completely break (I do have back-up but if it were equally as efficient as my main one, it wouldn't be 'just' the back-up, now would it?) BUT ALSO, we spent 3 1/2 hours in the hospital on Easter Sunday getting a staple put in my son's head. 

I know there's some ironic comparison between getting stapled and the fact that it's Easter, but I'm so fucking tired that I'm hoping that merely suggesting it is sufficient enough.  

Sorrrrrrrrrrrrrrry, Jesus.

I realize it's not easy being holey. 

I mean holy.

Amen, bitches!

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* totally stole that from Kevin Smith. Whatever.

An Ode to Twenty-Five

If I could go back to any age,

it wouldn't be any time during high school;

what a fucking awkward stage.

I also would not be a young girl.

I just agonized about everything

to the point where I would almost hurl.

Forever twenty-one is getting closer

But I wasn't quite taken seriously.

In fact, I was likely an obnoxious poser.

I wasn't overly impressed with thirty.
I spend the majority of it being unsatisfied,
bloated, chafed and dirty.

Of course, it's been down hill from there.
Getting jigglier by the minute
And Cheers! to watching me not care.

I cannot see myself choosing any older age.
The damage has already been done
And I've securely bottled up my rage.

So let me celebrate when all the stars aligned;
when I had barely a care
and my metabolism was kind.

Twenty-five's the year to watch.
I was finished with school
And my skin? Nay a blotch.

I could hold my booze
And, oh, what's that?
I don't give a shit. I'm taking a snooze.

Did I mention that at twenty-five
car insurance went down a lot?
Oh yes, and so did my boyfriend.

I know that stanza didn't rhyme,
but holy fuck, it was pretty funny.
Yes, twenty-five was truly my prime.

I travelled a lot and took birth control pills.
I didn't have a high interest mortgage,
Or stacks of overdue bills.

I had few responsibilities whatsoever.
And if I had the option
I'd likely be twenty-five forever.

Welcome to the Dick Sisterhood

So, it has finally happened, and not from any actions on my part, which is probably the most shocking detail.

I now have a dick sister.

What's a dick sister, you ask? Well, just in case you didn't know, the Urban Dictionary defines it as such:
"A combination of women who have had sex with the same man."

Well, that about sums it all up.

It's a strange feeling for me and I wasn't sure how to take the news at first. I was a firm believer in the whole 'don't crap where you eat' life motto and I rarely dated slept with guys from my own social circles.

I also enjoyed the encouraging phrase of 'there's plenty of fish in the sea' so I wasn't really a fan of sharing the same sea cucumbers with my friends - so to speak.

Eww. Soggy.

It even bothered me when I would be in situations where friends of mine would cycle through boyfriends between each other. They seemed OK with it, but I would put on a fake smile and be screaming on the inside, "HOW CAN YOU MAKE OUT WITH HIM KNOWING THAT HIS TONGUE HAS BEEN UP YOUR BEST FRIEND'S TWAT?!" Gahhh! It irked me to great lengths.

Even in University, when my personal skank factor was upped a notch or three, I still managed to escape forming any dick sisterhood relationships (I shall let some brief oral encounters slide on this one, mmmk? AHEM)... until now.

A whole decade later! One of my best friends did the down and dirty with one of my long-since-passed "he is the one" ones...

But it wasn't him.
Or him.
Or even him.

So it wasn't completely gut-wrenchingly awful news, however, even after all these years, it still did feel like someone had just kicked me in the ovaries when she told me. All the hairs on the back of my neck stabbed me repeatedly, attempting to paralyze my legs by severing my spinal column. Mentally, I was better than I expected, I mean, after all, it was a long time ago. But my physical response to the news just solidified what I have known all along, and that was that I was strictly a fresh cock kinda gal.

Fuck recycling.

I'm fairly certain it was a fling of convenience, considering they are both single and free to be with whomever they please, but in the EXTREME unlikelihood that they got married, I'd be sitting in the crowd (or better yet, in the bridal party) and as they exchanged their "I dos" I would be thinking, "Hey! I know what he sounds like when he cums." I mean... Congratulations you two!

I feel like there's some sort of induction ceremony or initiation that needs to be performed. I didn't know what to do since this is all new to me.

I sent her an edible arrangement and paid $5 more for some extra bananas...

Welcome!