I've been putting off this post for over a month now (actually, more like 6 months now, but who's counting?) but it's time! There will not be anymore posts on this site and in a few months from now, I will be taking it down completely.
The decision to stop my blog isn't entirely that I've ceased to enjoy writing, but rather because when I began this blog in 2010, it was meant to be a collaboration blog of various women's stories of how funny and/or horrible it was going through puberty and their early 20s. That never happened. I got a surprisingly low response of women that wanted to share their stories, even anonymously, so I just began writing all of my own stories. Although I was quite the dumb skank, even I only had so many stories to share. After inserting a variety of posts about other topics, I found that my original intent was pretty much gone.
It's not that I am quitting Adventures in Estrogen, but more like it's just complete, and I am proud of what I've accomplished here in the last 4 years, as well as treasuring the friends I have made because of this.
I love you!
The reason why I will be taking it down in a few months is another story all together. It seems as even though I still get about 1000 page views a day, 995 of those seem to be from fucking pedophiles thinking that my stories of my (very) young sexual experiences will somehow turn them on. It's so fucking horrific and never did I ever even consider this to be a possible side effect of my writings, which are 100% meant to be cautionary tales for girls and/or parents of young girls and nothing fucking more than that. I guess I was naive. My blog search term results used to be hilarious and a constant source of entertainment, but in the past year, it's mostly just turned my stomach & I cannot even bear to check them anymore.
I want to thank all of you that have supported, laughed, cried, commented and connected with me over the last 4 years. As you are probably well aware, I'm always on The Twitter and my website LadyE.me has its own independent website now with some of my favourite posts permanently residing there. I'll also have a Tumblr (yeah, I love Tumblr and I don't fucking care who knows it) where I will post things that are longer than 140 characters. I also hope to write for In The Powder Room again someday, but that won't be until Baby E lets me near a computer for longer than 5 minutes.
PS. Buy our book. Woot!
See you on the flip side, hookers! Muuuuuuuuah.
Lady E, signing off.
Feb 1, 2014
Dec 14, 2013
Savvy Suckers
My husband and I were watching TV (as usual) when one of my favourite cheesy commercials came on -- the Durex Savvy Lovers. Since according to the television people, I shave my hoo-haa, so therefore, I DESERVE the best sex ever. Well, doesn't that just go without saying?
Ahem.
Anyway, this time it aired — having been only 8 weeks since I gave birth and had my tubes tied (WOOT!) — I snorted and attempted to be funny by mocking them...
"Ha! They have to use condoms like suckers!"
My husband raised his eyebrows and rebutted with a tone of snark while he pointed to Little Miss Fussypants, who I was currently rocking on my chest...
"THEY ARE THE SUCKERS? ARE YOU SURE?"
Humfph.
Jerk.
Ahem.
Anyway, this time it aired — having been only 8 weeks since I gave birth and had my tubes tied (WOOT!) — I snorted and attempted to be funny by mocking them...
"Ha! They have to use condoms like suckers!"
My husband raised his eyebrows and rebutted with a tone of snark while he pointed to Little Miss Fussypants, who I was currently rocking on my chest...
"THEY ARE THE SUCKERS? ARE YOU SURE?"
Humfph.
Jerk.
Nov 27, 2013
Smooth Operator
It had been 3 weeks since I had Baby E. She already had a cold and because of her stuffed sinuses, we hadn't slept for more than 20 minutes at a time for the past 3 days. The boys were being their typical 4 year old selves in the morning, which consisted of completely forgetting what needed to be done in order to get ready for school. Boots? Hats? Jackets? Apparently, I might as well be speaking fucking Greek. No day seems to be better than any other, but they can always get worse.
I had just returned back to the house after dropping the boys off at school after what I commonly describe as "Thing 1's nuclear meltdowns". And the cause this time? Who the hell knows; I can't keep track anymore.
I was fucking exhausted.
Baby was actually sleeping in her carrier when I took her out of the car to go into the house. I noticed my neighbor's 18 year old son across the street, sitting in his car and smoking.
Cigarettes.
Now, I hadn't had a smoke for 9 months -- my last one being about 45 minutes before I peed on a stick.
At least it wasn't 45 minutes AFTER I peed, so whatever. Shut up.
Ahem.
Maybe it was my exhaustion that was driving my decisions, but I swallowed my pride and went over to the kid, "Can I get a smoke off you?"
"Sure. They're menthol though."
MENTHOL?! Things have sure changed since I was in high school, but beggars can't be snobby bitches, I guess.
I lied, "That's fine." All I knew is that I wanted to hold that stick between my fingers and hold it between my lips, so a pansy-assed mint flavored cigarette would have to do.
As the boy handed me the cigarette, he pleaded with me, "Don't tell my mom, okay?"
I backed away from his car and just smiled, "No problem. Don't tell my husband, okay?"
He nodded and laughed.
As I touched a flame to the end and inhaled, despite it being a tad minty, it was so goddamn glorious.
Smooth and satisfying, as if I was living inside a cigarette poster from the 40s.
I haven't had one since that day, but let's not discuss the 2lbs of M&M's I've had instead...
I had just returned back to the house after dropping the boys off at school after what I commonly describe as "Thing 1's nuclear meltdowns". And the cause this time? Who the hell knows; I can't keep track anymore.
I was fucking exhausted.
Baby was actually sleeping in her carrier when I took her out of the car to go into the house. I noticed my neighbor's 18 year old son across the street, sitting in his car and smoking.
Cigarettes.
Now, I hadn't had a smoke for 9 months -- my last one being about 45 minutes before I peed on a stick.
At least it wasn't 45 minutes AFTER I peed, so whatever. Shut up.
Ahem.
Maybe it was my exhaustion that was driving my decisions, but I swallowed my pride and went over to the kid, "Can I get a smoke off you?"
"Sure. They're menthol though."
MENTHOL?! Things have sure changed since I was in high school, but beggars can't be snobby bitches, I guess.
I lied, "That's fine." All I knew is that I wanted to hold that stick between my fingers and hold it between my lips, so a pansy-assed mint flavored cigarette would have to do.
As the boy handed me the cigarette, he pleaded with me, "Don't tell my mom, okay?"
I backed away from his car and just smiled, "No problem. Don't tell my husband, okay?"
He nodded and laughed.
As I touched a flame to the end and inhaled, despite it being a tad minty, it was so goddamn glorious.
Smooth and satisfying, as if I was living inside a cigarette poster from the 40s.
I haven't had one since that day, but let's not discuss the 2lbs of M&M's I've had instead...
 |
| That's me, can't you tell? |
Oct 24, 2013
She's here!
Although a slightly belated announcement, I thought it was time I got my arse into gear
to post something about my new bundle o'joy -- Baby E (a.k.a. Hiccup, a.k.a. Squeakers).
Born October 9th, 2013, weighing 9lbs2oz -- via c-section.
No pushing was required.
Thanks so much for everyone's well wishes on The Twitter & emails.
Love and hugs to you all!
Oct 1, 2013
The final countdown — it is on!
OK, I've officially made it to October so it's go time, baby!
In honor of my last few days of pregnancy, I wrote this song. I thought I'd put forth some extra effort, especially since this might be the last post for a couple weeks. Please note my seesawing, hormonal affections towards my husband, mostly based on whether or not he's giving me food at the time, obviously.
------------
On the final day of pregnancy, my jerk face husband gave to me an extra load of his laundry.
On the 2nd last day of pregnancy, my high blood pressure gave to me two puffy cankles.
And an extra load of his laundry.
On the 3rd last day of pregnancy, my doctor gave to me three Labetalols.
Two puffy cankles.
And an extra load of his laundry.
On the 4th last day of pregnancy, my true love gave to me four tubes of Pringles.
Three Labetalols.
Two puffy cankles.
And an extra load of his laundry.
On the 5th last day of pregnancy, my cravings gave to me five iced coffeeeeees.
Four tubes of Pringles.
Three Labetalols.
Two puffy cankles.
And an extra load of his laundry.
On the 6th last day of pregnancy, my baby gave to me six extra kilos.
Five iced coffeeeeees.
Four tubes of Pringles.
Three Labetalols.
Two puffy cankles.
And an extra load of his laundry.
On the 7th last day of pregnancy, my doctor gave to me seven more goddamn days.
Six extra kilos.
Five iced coffeeeeees.
Four tubes of Pringles.
Three Labetalols.
Two puffy cankles.
And an extra load of his laundry.
On the 8th last day of pregnancy, my whiny husband gave to me eight panicked texts.
Seven more goddamn days.
Six extra kilos.
Five iced coffeeeeees.
Four tubes of Pringles.
Three Labetalols.
Two puffy cankles.
And an extra load of his laundry.
On the 9th last day of pregnancy, my baby gave to me nine toilet trips.
Eight panicked texts.
Seven more goddamn days.
Six extra kilos.
Five iced coffeeeeees.
Four tubes of Pringles.
Three Labetalols.
Two puffy cankles.
And an extra load of his laundry.
On the 10th last day of pregnancy, my inner teenager gave to me ten throbbing zits.
Nine toilet trips.
Eight panicked texts.
Seven more goddamn days.
Six extra kilos.
Five iced coffeeeeees.
Four tubes of Pringles.
Three Labetalols.
Two puffy cankles.
And an extra load of his laundry.
On the 11th last day of pregnancy, my true love gave to me eleven bites of poutine.
Ten throbbing zits.
Nine toilet trips.
Eight panicked texts.
Seven more goddamn days.
Six extra kilos.
Five iced coffeeeeees.
Four tubes of Pringles.
Three Labetalols.
Two puffy cankles.
And an extra load of his laundry.
On the 12th last day of pregnancy, my fucking hormones gave to me twelve creepy skin tags.
Eleven bites of poutine.
Ten throbbing zits.
Nine toilet trips.
Eight panicked texts.
Seven more goddamn days.
Six extra kilos.
Five iced coffeeeeees.
Four tubes of Pringles.
Three Labetalols.
Two puffy cankles.
And an extra load of his laundry-eee-eee-eee.
Sep 9, 2013
Push it or not to push it
Here's a little song I've been singing to myself ever since I was told last week there's a good chance I could deliver this baby "naturally". I'm experiencing intense mixed emotions, for sure. Eik. Sing along, if you like -- I'm pretty sure you all know it :)
Ah, push it
Ah, push it
Ah, push it
Oooh, baby, baby
A 9lb baby?!
The vaginal abyss!
Ow! Baby!
The decision's here!
[Now wait a minute, y'all
This pushin’ ain't for everybody
Only the flexi people
So all you fly mothers, get on out there and push
PUSH, I said!]
The decision's here, and the doc
Wants me to push it, babe
Always thought I’d get another C, so it’s a shock
The recovery time’s better, that we all know
But I didn’t overly want my hairy vaj to be put on show
To push it
Ah, push it - push it good
Ah, push it - push it real good
Hey! Ow!
Drugs are good!
Oooh, baby, baby
A 9lb baby?!
Yo, yo, yo, yo, baby-pop
Yeah, you -- don’t gimme a kiss
Better get me the drugs or else I'm gonna get pissed
Can't handle the thought of poopin’ too, like I know I could.
Don’t push it…
Or push it good
P-push it real good
Oh, shit.
The vaginal abyss!
Boy, you’re now gettin’ the snip
If I have to experience my lady bits rip.
Ah, push it.
Aug 28, 2013
Where life plans go to die
I have never been good with attitude of "whatever happens tomorrow, happens". Fuck that. I need to know not only where my next meal is coming from, but where my next 1000 meals are coming from, at least. And I've always been that way.
I knew in University that I'd be a salary girl. A few of my fellow artist classmates were adamant on going the freelance, suffer-for-your-art route, but the mere thought of that made me twitchy.
Even as a child, I would get stomach pangs in the middle of the night because my father was SO CHEAP and would obsess about money so frequently that I was convinced that we were going bankrupt and we'd become homeless at any moment. Turns out, we were doing just fine. THANKS FOR THAT, DAD.
It's not that I'm obsessed with money or wanting to be rich; I just want to be "stable". The last few years with the twins has been a reality check and I somehow managed to accept the fact that we'd be dipping into the red every month until the boys started full time school -- which would be this September, 2013.
Husband and I had been calling it FREEDOM 2013 pretty much since 2008. From the latter part of 2009 until the day I lost my job in November of last year, we had been paying FIFTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS a month in childcare.
That would have all gone away next week.
Oh my fucking god, we could finally start paying off our other debts! Perhaps pay off our mortgage a little faster. Or actually contribute to RRSPs for us, or RESPs for the kids (which is laughable at the moment). We were going to have $1500 EVERY MONTH to do whatever the hell we wanted. I had been fantasizing withdrawing that amount at the end of September and rolling around in it; I was totally going to do it too.
And I was OK with waiting for that. It was an achievable goal. There was going to be an end to this annoying clusterfuck that is "not having enough money for the Lightning McQueen underwear that the boys want". Even as I write that, I realize it's a "first world problem" but nevertheless, it was a problem for me.
My boys, at 4 years old, have already begun asking me if things are "too much moneys" for them to have, and it truly breaks my heart. I see history repeating itself, except this time it's a real issue.
I should be getting emotional about my babies going off to big boy school next week, but it's really being over-shadowed by all this crap, and I hate it. So, I'm trying my very hardest not to still be bitter about losing my job, but even in my worst case scenario, I didn't see myself STILL being unemployed by this time. And yet here I am.
Unsure about tomorrow and freaking right the hell out.
Oh, and baby number 3 arrives in 6 weeks...
Tick-fucking-tock.
I knew in University that I'd be a salary girl. A few of my fellow artist classmates were adamant on going the freelance, suffer-for-your-art route, but the mere thought of that made me twitchy.
Even as a child, I would get stomach pangs in the middle of the night because my father was SO CHEAP and would obsess about money so frequently that I was convinced that we were going bankrupt and we'd become homeless at any moment. Turns out, we were doing just fine. THANKS FOR THAT, DAD.
It's not that I'm obsessed with money or wanting to be rich; I just want to be "stable". The last few years with the twins has been a reality check and I somehow managed to accept the fact that we'd be dipping into the red every month until the boys started full time school -- which would be this September, 2013.
Husband and I had been calling it FREEDOM 2013 pretty much since 2008. From the latter part of 2009 until the day I lost my job in November of last year, we had been paying FIFTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS a month in childcare.
That would have all gone away next week.
Oh my fucking god, we could finally start paying off our other debts! Perhaps pay off our mortgage a little faster. Or actually contribute to RRSPs for us, or RESPs for the kids (which is laughable at the moment). We were going to have $1500 EVERY MONTH to do whatever the hell we wanted. I had been fantasizing withdrawing that amount at the end of September and rolling around in it; I was totally going to do it too.
See? That pretty much would've been me . . . except with Canadian money, obviously.
And I was OK with waiting for that. It was an achievable goal. There was going to be an end to this annoying clusterfuck that is "not having enough money for the Lightning McQueen underwear that the boys want". Even as I write that, I realize it's a "first world problem" but nevertheless, it was a problem for me.
My boys, at 4 years old, have already begun asking me if things are "too much moneys" for them to have, and it truly breaks my heart. I see history repeating itself, except this time it's a real issue.
I should be getting emotional about my babies going off to big boy school next week, but it's really being over-shadowed by all this crap, and I hate it. So, I'm trying my very hardest not to still be bitter about losing my job, but even in my worst case scenario, I didn't see myself STILL being unemployed by this time. And yet here I am.
Unsure about tomorrow and freaking right the hell out.
Oh, and baby number 3 arrives in 6 weeks...
Tick-fucking-tock.
Aug 23, 2013
Flashback Friday: The Sweater
Even now, as I re-read and tweak the sentence structures (oh-my-god-what-was-I-thinking-putting-that-comma-there-3-years-ago), I can't help but think I dodged a HUGE bullet having this happen to me before the age of cyber-bullying and social media. Something as silly as this could have easily spiraled out of control (even more than it already did) and caused some serious damage.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It took me until this incident to realize that although girls are always pegged to have serious peer-pressure issues; guys aren't that different after all.
In grade 11, I had a briefly lived friendship with Scott, a guy in my graphics class. Of course, I would have wanted more, but even being his friend was good enough for me. He was very cute, but also a little odd, which is why I guess I was drawn to him.
Scott and I really got along well; we had a lot of similar interests and I just found that I was comfortable talking to him. Shortly after we first started talking, he started to wait for me every morning at the top of the hill from our school and we would continue together from there. He usually skateboarded to school, so he would either weave around me and talk or just get off and carry it when we walked together. Either way, I really enjoyed our morning chats and looked forward to them.
During school, he didn't really acknowledge our blossoming friendship, especially when his mates were around. That part I understood and it didn't bother me too much – I was well aware that most of them were complete douchebags. He was a ‘member’ of the cool guy skater boy squad at our school, although only about middle-management, meaning basically that he was a puppet to the ‘higher-ups’. In order to have any kind of relationship with one of these guys, whether platonic or otherwise, the ‘higher-ups’ would have to approve, or some stupid shit like that.
I assume the verdict came in that I was not good enough.
Our friendship had gone one step further and he invited me to his house after school a couple of times. I had met his mum and even had dinner with them. Of course, being the curious person that I was, while we were hanging out in his room, I had gone through some of his wardrobe drawers. We had a good laugh when I found a few old "nerdy" items and I also found a really nice black sweater. He said he hated it and that it was a bit "faggotty" for him, but I really liked it. He said I could take it, if I wanted to – so I did, and I wore it to school the next day.
He met me that morning as usual, and everything was cool between us... until lunchtime. I still have no idea how the ‘guy squad’ pieced together that I was wearing Scott’s sweater – it was a pretty generic all-black sweater – but they found out somehow. I guess that let the cat out of the bag, and from there on in, I could only speculate how things went down. I am guessing that they confronted Scott about me and they must have been extremely disapproving or made fun of him, because the next thing I knew, they were all approaching me – like a swarm of hyenas surrounding an injured gazelle.
Then Scott yelled at me, “Hey, you stupid bitch! Are you a klepto or something? What they fuck are you doing with my top?”
I really wasn't sure what was going on, and I didn't answer for a couple seconds; I was completely stunned, confused and terrified. This guy was supposed to be my friend. I just had dinner with him and his mother the night before, for fuck's sake!
Then, one of the upper-management assholes took over, “Answer him, Klepto Bitch! What the fuck are you doing with his shit?”
I didn't even think that trying to defend my honor would have served a purpose. I just kept leering at Scott, like I was telepathically begging for his help or something, and he didn't even flinch from his stare of hatred that he reciprocated back in my general direction.
Luckily, I was wearing a T-shirt underneath that damn sweater, and I quickly pulled it off over my head and threw it back at him. The only thing I drummed up the courage to say was, “You can take your stupid fucking sweater, assholes!” And then I ran away, so as to save myself from getting my ass kicked by a bunch of guys (which I wouldn't have put past them) and also so that Scott or the others couldn't take any satisfaction in seeing my tears of pure rage that began to burn down my face.
I could hear them yelling and taunting me as I ran away, as well as them victoriously high-fiving each other.
The next couple months felt like an excruciating eternity.
They called me ‘Klepto Bitch’ for the longest time. I tried to ignore it, but it really drove me a little insane. I couldn't sleep and was having serious stomach and digestive issues. I tried to avoid them whenever possible, and if I did see them travelling in a pack, I just cringed and got ready for the insults to be viciously hurled at me. Of course, they were fine when it was just one of them; it was "the herd" that I had to fear. As for Scott, I didn't even try to approach him about the situation. It was clear that his role as a ‘puppet’ was far more important than any scrap of friendship that we had developed. If I was forced to come within close range of him in class, he pretty much ignored my existence. It was so utterly disappointing.
I hated him.
I missed him.
And I felt sorry for him, all at the same time.
Eventually, their herd started to ignore me in the halls — I guess the joke got old, even for them. It took about 3 months, but it did come to an end, and it was so gradual that I barely noticed when it had been weeks since any of them taunted me. Those locusts likely had moved on to someone fresh and new to devour.
I was usually out-going, the life of the party — but they paralyzed me and for once in my life, I welcomed obscurity.
Aug 8, 2013
You Have Lipstick On Your Teeth
There's this crazy lady, you may know her by The Bearded Iris. Anyway, she contacted me a while back to see if I wanted to submit an essay for a collective book she was putting together and editing. It took a lot of effort but I actually managed to get off my arse and offer up one of the more personal stories about womanhood and motherhood (more specifically, my vagina) and about 30 seconds before the final deadline, I sent it in.
The reply I got back was a firm, "Oh, hell yes!"
**Insert a Napoleon Dynamite SSSWEEET.**
And after months of The Bearded One (a.k.a. Leslie) wasting away as she edited this fabulous book that consists of 39 essays/short stories by ladies of who I am honored to be listed along side every one of them.
Please check it out on Amazon and buy it in paperback or Kindle. We need lots of reviews so get reading, laughing . . . and maybe gagging a little . . . but in the best way possible, I promise!
The reply I got back was a firm, "Oh, hell yes!"
**Insert a Napoleon Dynamite SSSWEEET.**
And after months of The Bearded One (a.k.a. Leslie) wasting away as she edited this fabulous book that consists of 39 essays/short stories by ladies of who I am honored to be listed along side every one of them.
Please check it out on Amazon and buy it in paperback or Kindle. We need lots of reviews so get reading, laughing . . . and maybe gagging a little . . . but in the best way possible, I promise!
Jul 30, 2013
Children's Programming Mostly Blows
Since I've been home with the boys for the better part of a year now, I think I'm starting to crack at the seams a little, particularly with my intense criticisms of children's programming. Unfortunately, I'm still having to do freelance work here and there, so babysitter à la television has been a huge help, but I have reached my tolerance limit with certain shows. I just can't take them anymore.
10. Bubble Guppies - I cannot fault the music element in this show; it's quite impressive. But what the shit is going on with their environment?! Are they under water all the time? They're fish, right? So they must be! Then they travel on airplanes and attend rodeos and partake in desert adventures . . . under water? The cows have fins but the elephants do not? I'm confused and I don't like being confused by inconsistencies in a cartoon! Fuck it.
9. Toopy & Binoo - Not sure if this one is exclusive to Canada or not, since it's a French-based show. If you've never heard of it, consider yourself lucky. My kids LOVE it, much to my horror. I don't mind Binoo because he/she/it doesn't talk, but Toopy? Let's just say that if you believe in an existence of Hell, it's likely where you would get strapped to a chair & be forced to listen to Toopy narrate The Bible for all eternity.
8. My Big Big Friend - This would actually be a half decent show if it wasn't for one character - LILY. She's a little cunt! It actually upsets me that even though the two boys have rare moments of imperfection, she is a HORRIBLE girl that's usually quite mean to the boys. Is this necessary? I don't think so. It's very gender biased and it makes me twitchy.
7. Max & Ruby - Ditto with what I just wrote from My Big Big Friend. Ruby is a bossy bitch who's constantly talking down to her brother even though he's clearly not an idiot. And where the fuck are their parents?! Did the writers just decide they'd be too much of a hassle to create? Maybe if Ruby had a parent around, she wouldn't be such a skunt.
6. Little Einsteins - (aka. Little Pretentious Bastards) When a good accomplishment according to my sons is removing a giant booger from their nose, I find it almost embarrassing for this show's creators that they believe toddlers give one ounce of fuck about Beethoven and what he looked like in 1800. They try way too hard. They put up a flash card portrait of Warhol the other day, like, near the end of his days when he was frazzled and freaky looking. What the hell? I have a degree in Fine Art and even I don't need to see that shit on a Saturday morning.
5. Yo Gabba Gabba! - I have issues with any "human" hosts (or children's TV actors) that talk too animated where their mouths open too wide & their entire pupils are showing like a deer in headlights. It's not necessary and it creeps me out. And the puppet characters? I'm sorry, you'll never be Fraggle Rock. No amount of celebrity guest stars will ever get me to tune in to this clusterfuck. Banned.
4. Dora the Explorer - FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, WHY IS SHE ALWAYS YELLING? Banned.
3. Peppa Pig - Oh, that voice. I even mute the commercials for this show. I think they searched all of the United Kingdom to find the single most annoying girl to voice Peppa. I haven't even watched it long enough to determine if she's a nice little piglet or not. She would likely cover Toopy's lunch breaks and read The Bible to you IN HELL. My husband was the quickest to ban this one.
2. Mike the Knight - The biggest little asshole in all the land. Seriously, he's a fucking selfish jerk and treats his friends like complete shit. My son said to me the other day, "I don't like Mike the Knight because he's not very nice." And it was one of the best parenting moments ever! Banned.
1. Caillou - The whiniest weirdo, bar none. A show that teaches kids how to whine, have tantrums and have a spoiled attitude. No fucking thank you. AND WHY IS HE BALD? No one else is bald, not even his baby sister. And I'm pretty certain he's not on Chemotherapy. Banned for eternity.
Dishonorable mention: Thomas the Tank Engine - You are NOT a very useful engine. In fact, you are a defiant, ignorant, trouble-making pile of metal that causes the train company likely hundreds of thousands of dollars in damages every year. You suck and I resent the fact that half of my house is covered in your over-priced merchandise.
------------------------------
On a positive note, I should add that I believe good programming for kids DOES exist -- just few & far between. I'd give my tramp stamp of approval to the following:
1. Octonauts - I learn new shit about the ocean every damn day.
2. Imagination Movers - Scott is my boyfriend and Dave is my homeboy.
3. Cat in the Hat - Dr. Seuss and Martin Short, enough said.
4. Handy Manny - You can't deny that the sexual tension between Manny and Kelly is intense, yo!
5. Mickey Mouse Clubhouse - Although mildly annoying, it's the type of annoying most of us have been desensitized towards, having been raised on that weird little mouse ourselves.
6. Agent Oso - OK, there was a time I detested Oso on the sole ground that he's the dumbest fuck of all time. I've since learned to tolerate him now that the boys are smarter than him & find his stupidity funny. And there's bigger fish to fry, so to speak.
7. Sesame Street - Because it will always be awesome.
What shows do you enjoy, tolerate or absolutely refuse to have on?
. . . even in the distant background, while you try your hardest to ignore it.
10. Bubble Guppies - I cannot fault the music element in this show; it's quite impressive. But what the shit is going on with their environment?! Are they under water all the time? They're fish, right? So they must be! Then they travel on airplanes and attend rodeos and partake in desert adventures . . . under water? The cows have fins but the elephants do not? I'm confused and I don't like being confused by inconsistencies in a cartoon! Fuck it.
9. Toopy & Binoo - Not sure if this one is exclusive to Canada or not, since it's a French-based show. If you've never heard of it, consider yourself lucky. My kids LOVE it, much to my horror. I don't mind Binoo because he/she/it doesn't talk, but Toopy? Let's just say that if you believe in an existence of Hell, it's likely where you would get strapped to a chair & be forced to listen to Toopy narrate The Bible for all eternity.
8. My Big Big Friend - This would actually be a half decent show if it wasn't for one character - LILY. She's a little cunt! It actually upsets me that even though the two boys have rare moments of imperfection, she is a HORRIBLE girl that's usually quite mean to the boys. Is this necessary? I don't think so. It's very gender biased and it makes me twitchy.
7. Max & Ruby - Ditto with what I just wrote from My Big Big Friend. Ruby is a bossy bitch who's constantly talking down to her brother even though he's clearly not an idiot. And where the fuck are their parents?! Did the writers just decide they'd be too much of a hassle to create? Maybe if Ruby had a parent around, she wouldn't be such a skunt.
6. Little Einsteins - (aka. Little Pretentious Bastards) When a good accomplishment according to my sons is removing a giant booger from their nose, I find it almost embarrassing for this show's creators that they believe toddlers give one ounce of fuck about Beethoven and what he looked like in 1800. They try way too hard. They put up a flash card portrait of Warhol the other day, like, near the end of his days when he was frazzled and freaky looking. What the hell? I have a degree in Fine Art and even I don't need to see that shit on a Saturday morning.
5. Yo Gabba Gabba! - I have issues with any "human" hosts (or children's TV actors) that talk too animated where their mouths open too wide & their entire pupils are showing like a deer in headlights. It's not necessary and it creeps me out. And the puppet characters? I'm sorry, you'll never be Fraggle Rock. No amount of celebrity guest stars will ever get me to tune in to this clusterfuck. Banned.
4. Dora the Explorer - FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, WHY IS SHE ALWAYS YELLING? Banned.
3. Peppa Pig - Oh, that voice. I even mute the commercials for this show. I think they searched all of the United Kingdom to find the single most annoying girl to voice Peppa. I haven't even watched it long enough to determine if she's a nice little piglet or not. She would likely cover Toopy's lunch breaks and read The Bible to you IN HELL. My husband was the quickest to ban this one.
2. Mike the Knight - The biggest little asshole in all the land. Seriously, he's a fucking selfish jerk and treats his friends like complete shit. My son said to me the other day, "I don't like Mike the Knight because he's not very nice." And it was one of the best parenting moments ever! Banned.
1. Caillou - The whiniest weirdo, bar none. A show that teaches kids how to whine, have tantrums and have a spoiled attitude. No fucking thank you. AND WHY IS HE BALD? No one else is bald, not even his baby sister. And I'm pretty certain he's not on Chemotherapy. Banned for eternity.
Dishonorable mention: Thomas the Tank Engine - You are NOT a very useful engine. In fact, you are a defiant, ignorant, trouble-making pile of metal that causes the train company likely hundreds of thousands of dollars in damages every year. You suck and I resent the fact that half of my house is covered in your over-priced merchandise.
------------------------------
On a positive note, I should add that I believe good programming for kids DOES exist -- just few & far between. I'd give my tramp stamp of approval to the following:
1. Octonauts - I learn new shit about the ocean every damn day.
2. Imagination Movers - Scott is my boyfriend and Dave is my homeboy.
3. Cat in the Hat - Dr. Seuss and Martin Short, enough said.
4. Handy Manny - You can't deny that the sexual tension between Manny and Kelly is intense, yo!
5. Mickey Mouse Clubhouse - Although mildly annoying, it's the type of annoying most of us have been desensitized towards, having been raised on that weird little mouse ourselves.
6. Agent Oso - OK, there was a time I detested Oso on the sole ground that he's the dumbest fuck of all time. I've since learned to tolerate him now that the boys are smarter than him & find his stupidity funny. And there's bigger fish to fry, so to speak.
7. Sesame Street - Because it will always be awesome.
What shows do you enjoy, tolerate or absolutely refuse to have on?
. . . even in the distant background, while you try your hardest to ignore it.
Jul 25, 2013
So everyone's going to BlogHer13
It's that time of year again -- BlogHer season. I had my Early Bird ticket and I was all set to go, and then this happened, so with a heavy heart, I sold my ticket. This is not to say that I'd trade one for the other, because WHAT KIND OF MOTHER WOULD I BE? but nevertheless, I was looking forward to seeing the friends I made from last year's BlogHer12 in NYC as well as meeting new bloggy & Twitter friends.
Anyway, I'll keep this sulk short since most of you will be in Chicago, likely drinking, and not reading this anyway! I've channeled my inner teen angst for this one . . .
Anyway, I'll keep this sulk short since most of you will be in Chicago, likely drinking, and not reading this anyway! I've channeled my inner teen angst for this one . . .
YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
Jul 8, 2013
Portable, disposable penises - Yes, please!
I was shopping at an outdoors'y store the other day (looking for a fanny pack, as ya do) and nestled right between the travel eye masks and the reading lights, I found unexpected gold.
I remember a while ago finding a similar contraption to this, but they are bigger and kind of remind me of the stainless steel ice scoopers that I used during my bartending days -- not exactly something you'd want to carry around in your over-sized purseunless it really is the ice scooper that you're stealing from the bar. Amirite?
Anyhow, my initial reaction to these products are always giggley and immature. I mean, the function of them is quite silly, BUT then my ever-existing phobia of public toilets kicks in, and I think it's an amazing concept. The further away my ass can be from where some other stranger's dirty ass has been, the fucking better!
I know I'm a bit of a different beat when it comes to my toilet logic, because it's not "germs" per se that make me squirmy (I actually don't give a crap about germs), it's the human filth; even my own filth. Anyone in public health has my utter respect, because I just can't go there. Ever. This is another reason why the "GoGirl" and other reusable devices like the Diva Cup are things I have a hard time with, even though I know they're better for the environment as well as my body . . . blardy bargh blar. And let's face it, not everywhere has a working sink or clean water, so the thought of not being able to properly clean off said reusable device terrifies me beyond anything that could gross me out from the old fashioned alternative.
That's yet another reason why this "new" disposable (yet biodegradable, so that's at least something) product tweaked my interest. Perhaps some day soon, when I can actually SEE my vagina again, I might entertain the idea of trying out one of these little P-Mates -- on a plane comes to mind for sure, because BARF-GAG-WRETCH.
So what?! We still cannot know what it's like to jerk ourselves off just yet, but this is a good start in the right direction to conquering penis envy, for sure.
I remember a while ago finding a similar contraption to this, but they are bigger and kind of remind me of the stainless steel ice scoopers that I used during my bartending days -- not exactly something you'd want to carry around in your over-sized purse
 |
| They do have a very nice website, though. http://www.go-girl.com/ |
I know I'm a bit of a different beat when it comes to my toilet logic, because it's not "germs" per se that make me squirmy (I actually don't give a crap about germs), it's the human filth; even my own filth. Anyone in public health has my utter respect, because I just can't go there. Ever. This is another reason why the "GoGirl" and other reusable devices like the Diva Cup are things I have a hard time with, even though I know they're better for the environment as well as my body . . . blardy bargh blar. And let's face it, not everywhere has a working sink or clean water, so the thought of not being able to properly clean off said reusable device terrifies me beyond anything that could gross me out from the old fashioned alternative.
That's yet another reason why this "new" disposable (yet biodegradable, so that's at least something) product tweaked my interest. Perhaps some day soon, when I can actually SEE my vagina again, I might entertain the idea of trying out one of these little P-Mates -- on a plane comes to mind for sure, because BARF-GAG-WRETCH.
So what?! We still cannot know what it's like to jerk ourselves off just yet, but this is a good start in the right direction to conquering penis envy, for sure.
Jun 28, 2013
Somethings are priceless, apparently.
I recently had a one on one consultation-slash-tutorial to pass on some of my social media and other various interweb skills. I had been referred to this older gentlemen by a past colleague (thanks, by the way) and at $100/hr, I couldn't refuse.
I'm sure this is how the first prostitute began as well, probably.
After being led down to what could best be described as THE BASEMENT OF DEATH, he revealed a tiny (very, very tiny) corner that had been carved out from the mountains of boxes and clutter . . . and saws and other electric tools that could have cut through a human body like butter.
I knew from the moment he first opened the door that he was harmless, but considering a guy I went to high school with was just murdered by someone he met off Kijiji, I couldn't help but get crazy, awful thoughts racing through my mind.
Stranger, danger and all that.
Anyway, once we got settled in the claustrophobic work space, he began walking me through his dozens upon dozens of dusty "get rich on the internet" schemes, binders, videos and products that he had bought into, and it exhausted me.
He was full of quotable quotes and deep thought observations which I'm sure I've seen all of them assaulting my Facebook feed at one time or another . . . in Papyrus font and pasted on top of filtered sunset photos, of course.
Then he hit me with the golden tuna of sayings: "Your true wealth can only be measured once you've lost all your money."
And I gave him a raised eyebrow, nodding expression as to politely acknowledge the "wisdom" he was attempting to share with me.
"Do you know what that means?" As if he mistook my expression for one of confusion, and he continued to explain, "It's about your family; your children. How much are your children worth?"
"I dunno. How much do you think I could get for them?" I smiled.
He didn't smile back. "THEY ARE PRICELESS."
Oh yeah, right.
Obviously, my humor wasn't appreciated, so we cut short the chit chat and got down to work . . . showing him how to write a blog and make his millions.
LAUGH. OUT. LOUD.
That will be one hundred dollars, thanks.
I'm sure this is how the first prostitute began as well, probably.
After being led down to what could best be described as THE BASEMENT OF DEATH, he revealed a tiny (very, very tiny) corner that had been carved out from the mountains of boxes and clutter . . . and saws and other electric tools that could have cut through a human body like butter.
I knew from the moment he first opened the door that he was harmless, but considering a guy I went to high school with was just murdered by someone he met off Kijiji, I couldn't help but get crazy, awful thoughts racing through my mind.
Stranger, danger and all that.
Anyway, once we got settled in the claustrophobic work space, he began walking me through his dozens upon dozens of dusty "get rich on the internet" schemes, binders, videos and products that he had bought into, and it exhausted me.
He was full of quotable quotes and deep thought observations which I'm sure I've seen all of them assaulting my Facebook feed at one time or another . . . in Papyrus font and pasted on top of filtered sunset photos, of course.
Then he hit me with the golden tuna of sayings: "Your true wealth can only be measured once you've lost all your money."
And I gave him a raised eyebrow, nodding expression as to politely acknowledge the "wisdom" he was attempting to share with me.
"Do you know what that means?" As if he mistook my expression for one of confusion, and he continued to explain, "It's about your family; your children. How much are your children worth?"
"I dunno. How much do you think I could get for them?" I smiled.
He didn't smile back. "THEY ARE PRICELESS."
Oh yeah, right.
Obviously, my humor wasn't appreciated, so we cut short the chit chat and got down to work . . . showing him how to write a blog and make his millions.
LAUGH. OUT. LOUD.
That will be one hundred dollars, thanks.
Jun 6, 2013
The Michael Douglas Effect
I was going to write a long rant the other day about the idiocy that is Michael Douglas's claim about the origins of his throat cancer being linked to cunnilingus. (Like dudes need ANOTHER excuse not to go downtown. Gah.) Anyways, I decided I didn't want to waste my energy, so I drew this instead . . .
May 23, 2013
Looking forward
I'm still not always convinced that a third child will be coming into our family in a few short months. Then yesterday, I saw my sons' faces light up and eyes bug out when they saw the ultrasound for the first time and gosh dang it -- what can I say? My stony heart melted.
Certain things I can now start to look forward to have begun to set in, like:
Certain things I can now start to look forward to have begun to set in, like:
- No more sad attempts at trying to use those stupid pee-pee tee-pees for the pure novelty of them.
- No more urine soaked drapes and walls.
- No more clumping Vaseline around miniature circumcisions.
- My yelling of, "Get your hands out of your pants!" will not increase by another 1/3.
- No more (than usual) walking into bath time where I've indeed uninterrupted something special between a boy and his penis.
And why's that?
Well, because this baby is a girl!
Probably.
Woot!
May 6, 2013
Abercrombie's a Bitch
I don't know if you've read the lasted "fashion philosophy" by Abercrombie & Fitch but basically, they refuse to make clothes over a size 10 because they only want thin, popular, beautiful people wearing their clothes. A-to-the-motherfucking-Hem. (Here's the full, nauseating article.)
Because everyone over a size 10 is ugly and uncool?
Obviously.
Because everyone over a size 10 is ugly and uncool?
Obviously.
Since the "average" woman's size is a 12/14, I'll like to wave to Abercrombie while they sit up there on their high horse . . .
all by themselves.
all by themselves.
What I'd like to ask A&F is whether or not they are, in fact, aware that "uncool" people come in small sizes? Do they have their own version of the Walmart people greeter standing at the door, inspecting each customer's attractiveness before they're granted permission to enter through the velvet rope?
Not bloody likely.
I made these ads to illustrate my disdain for this company. Yay!
Uh huh.
I should mention in that article, there are shout outs to fashion brands that are much more on the level when it comes to enforcing positive women's body images in all sizes, and that's fantastic.
As for Abercrombie? Adios, douchebags!
----------------------------------
*Creative note: I don't like labeling people on degrees of "coolness" either, but I typed in "nerd girl" and got that first image, so really, a search engine chose it for me ;)
Apr 22, 2013
One Slippery Winner!
The results are in! Thank you so much to everyone that entered my slippery giveaway! It was so much fun -- both reviewing it AND checking out all the entries. I remember reading this particular entry and thinking, "What a cheeky, lazy bitch." And when I called her on it on the Twitter, this is how it went down . . .
So needless to say, when I went on my trusty Rafflecopter app (which is pretty easy to use, btw) and chose a random winner FOR MY MOST AWESOMEST CONTEST EVER, which was Rebecca's entry (out of 118 possibilities), I laughed my fucking ass off.
And by the way, the answer was 12, including the subject line. Here's a nerdy little secret to these types of questions -- just hit Ctrl + F and enter the word; it will give you the answer instantly. Because really, I wasn't going to count them manually either. Heh.
Thanks again to everyone that entered!
Hopefully, my sponsor was blown away with my amazing review & will continue to send me a plethora of goodies for me to share with all of you. Ahem.
x
@ladyestrogen I can't believe you expect ANYONE to count all that. Come on.
— Rebecca(@ManicMamaG) April 16, 2013
Congratulations, you damn underachiever!
And by the way, the answer was 12, including the subject line. Here's a nerdy little secret to these types of questions -- just hit Ctrl + F and enter the word; it will give you the answer instantly. Because really, I wasn't going to count them manually either. Heh.
Thanks again to everyone that entered!
Hopefully, my sponsor was blown away with my amazing review & will continue to send me a plethora of goodies for me to share with all of you. Ahem.
x
Apr 15, 2013
Lube Me Up, Buttercup!
Hoe-lee-shit. This marks my 400th post and never in a million years, if 399 posts ago you were to tell me that by this time I would be pregnant and testing lube . . . and at the same time . . . I'd call you a dirty fucking liar. But here I am, up the duff and getting my husband to spread heat-inducing lube all over my pleasure zones.
This is technically a sponsored post by Trojan, since I got all the lube for free, but, umm... FREE LUBE, PEOPLE. Plus, since it's my 400th post, I feel like celebrating and I'm giving away probably thee best prize package that I've EVER had on my site. Again, thanks to Trojan, because when I got their package in the mail, it was huge, first of all. And I couldn't figure out why, but then I opened it and it has not only 3 boxes of lube in it, but a purple sexy satin body wrap. I was impressed! Needless to say, I took one look at the robe and saw that it would likely wrap 1 of my thighs . . . maybe. But the kind gesture will not go unfulfilled, because it will also be a part of the fabulous lube inspired giveaway! Umm, yes!
Now, firstly, I need to admit that among all my weird and wonderful sexcapades, I've NEVER used lube before. It could be the fact that the mere mention of sex turns me on like a cool faucet on a hot summer's day; or it could be because I've always been too fucking cheap to spend $20 on these products, even though I've always been curious about them. If it's solely the later reason, I would like to go back and bitch slap that cheap ass woman and buy it. It's worth it. Every penny.
I tried out 2 of the 3 varieties I was sent, which seems to have done me more than enough favors, so I kept the 3rd bottle unopened to contribute towards the giveaway. I splooged out some "Arouses & Intensifies" while my hubs cracked into the "Tingly Warmth" lube. They are both slightly similar, but in the best way possible. What I mean is that I get warm when I'm aroused anyway, so they were both winners.
If you were a fly in the room, you would have heard things like, "Hey, I could probably get my whole hand up there with this lube!"
To which you also would have heard, "OIYE! Let's leave the fisting up to the professionals!"
But seriously, it is quite effective as far as greasing up the runway goes. Hand jobs are also waaaay easier with lube. Just sayin'.
And yet, it's not actually "greasy" at all. I was impressed with how it didn't make me feel disgusting afterwards -- something that I guess I always assumed when thinking about lube.
My ultimate opinion about these products can be spelled out in one simple phrase: I climaxed during actual intercourse. I don't know about you, but the last time THAT happened for me was somewhere around 2011.
So, thank you, Trojan!
(Which actually sounds a little weird when I say that since I'm pregnant, come to think of it . . . but whatever ;)
And since I'm in such a goddamn awesome mood, I'm also including a double bullet with dual remote control into the prize package, courtesy of Eden Fantasys.
Behold. All of this could be yours . . .
RIGHT? I'm pretty excited about this prize so I hope some of you are as well.
I'm also trying out Rafflecopter for this contest -- high tech shiz, I know. Please use it and enter so I can keep track of crap and be all official. YAHOO!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
This is technically a sponsored post by Trojan, since I got all the lube for free, but, umm... FREE LUBE, PEOPLE. Plus, since it's my 400th post, I feel like celebrating and I'm giving away probably thee best prize package that I've EVER had on my site. Again, thanks to Trojan, because when I got their package in the mail, it was huge, first of all. And I couldn't figure out why, but then I opened it and it has not only 3 boxes of lube in it, but a purple sexy satin body wrap. I was impressed! Needless to say, I took one look at the robe and saw that it would likely wrap 1 of my thighs . . . maybe. But the kind gesture will not go unfulfilled, because it will also be a part of the fabulous lube inspired giveaway! Umm, yes!
Now, firstly, I need to admit that among all my weird and wonderful sexcapades, I've NEVER used lube before. It could be the fact that the mere mention of sex turns me on like a cool faucet on a hot summer's day; or it could be because I've always been too fucking cheap to spend $20 on these products, even though I've always been curious about them. If it's solely the later reason, I would like to go back and bitch slap that cheap ass woman and buy it. It's worth it. Every penny.
I tried out 2 of the 3 varieties I was sent, which seems to have done me more than enough favors, so I kept the 3rd bottle unopened to contribute towards the giveaway. I splooged out some "Arouses & Intensifies" while my hubs cracked into the "Tingly Warmth" lube. They are both slightly similar, but in the best way possible. What I mean is that I get warm when I'm aroused anyway, so they were both winners.
If you were a fly in the room, you would have heard things like, "Hey, I could probably get my whole hand up there with this lube!"
To which you also would have heard, "OIYE! Let's leave the fisting up to the professionals!"
But seriously, it is quite effective as far as greasing up the runway goes. Hand jobs are also waaaay easier with lube. Just sayin'.
And yet, it's not actually "greasy" at all. I was impressed with how it didn't make me feel disgusting afterwards -- something that I guess I always assumed when thinking about lube.
My ultimate opinion about these products can be spelled out in one simple phrase: I climaxed during actual intercourse. I don't know about you, but the last time THAT happened for me was somewhere around 2011.
So, thank you, Trojan!
(Which actually sounds a little weird when I say that since I'm pregnant, come to think of it . . . but whatever ;)
And since I'm in such a goddamn awesome mood, I'm also including a double bullet with dual remote control into the prize package, courtesy of Eden Fantasys.
Behold. All of this could be yours . . .
RIGHT? I'm pretty excited about this prize so I hope some of you are as well.
I'm also trying out Rafflecopter for this contest -- high tech shiz, I know. Please use it and enter so I can keep track of crap and be all official. YAHOO!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Apr 1, 2013
Breaking News from Crazytown
So, there's a reason I've been a bit absent these days, and now I can finally tell you.
I'm having Gerard Butler's love child. It's OK. My husband knows and he's agreed to raise it as his own. Isn't that amazing of him?
Oops.
Hold me.
It's been a bumpy ride so far; pregnancy sucks, yo.
I shall leave you with the words of my beloved grandmother when I told her the news:
"You're pregnant? Well, that's what happens when you let him stick his dick in you."
I'm having Gerard Butler's love child. It's OK. My husband knows and he's agreed to raise it as his own. Isn't that amazing of him?
Okay, so I'm kind of joking. I bet y'all were totally fooled, RIGHT? Ahem.
But, there is some truth to my bullshit.
I'm having baby number three.
Hold me.
It's been a bumpy ride so far; pregnancy sucks, yo.
I shall leave you with the words of my beloved grandmother when I told her the news:
"You're pregnant? Well, that's what happens when you let him stick his dick in you."
You think I'm kidding, but I'm totally not.
Oooh. And by the way, you're a fan of my granny, you can follow her on Twitter to hear all her other gems. *wink wink*
Good times.
Fuck.
Mar 28, 2013
So this happened . . .
"Honey, check out the hot deals on the end cap shelf there."
*wink wink*
Husband: "Ohh, ribbed for her pleasure. And on clearance! Sweet."
"For that price, we should probably buy them, ya know, to test them out."
H: "Yeah. That's totally the reason . . . for the greater good."
"Well, it might be a good idea anyway. With me not working, it'd be the absolute worst time for us to have an 'accident', ya know what I mean?"
H: "Fine. Good point. Very good point."
--- Later that evening ---
H: "Here. You can put it on."
"Awesome. I love when you talk dirty to me."
"Oh my god. I feel as if I haven't done this in a decade."
H: "Yep. It's been about that long!"
"I feel like a teenager!"
H: "Oh yeah. I always forget about your slutty high school years."
"This, as you're trying to get me to put a condom on your cock? I love you, baby."
H: "Uh huh."
"Ohh, I remembered to leave room at the tip!"
--- A couple minutes later ---
H: "Am I in?"
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ARE YOU IN? YES, YOU'RE IN."
H: "I can't feel anything."
*pound pound*
"Anything? You're pounding just fine."
*pound pound*
H: "Do you feel the ribbing?"
*pound pound*
"Umm. Nope."
*pound pound*
"Are you going to be able to finish if you can't feel it?"
*pound pound*
H: "Oh yeah. I'm close."
"But you can't even feel anything? Life is tough for you, babe. Humm."
*pound pound*
H: "Here I come!"
*rolls over*
"Here's a tissue for that ribbed disappointment . . . where is it?"
H: "Ugh. I dunno."
"YOU'RE MEANT TO HOLD ON TO IT WHEN YOU WITHDRAW."
H: "Oops."
*I fished the condom out of my hoohaa*
"It was unsatisfying for both of us, kind of, and didn't even work as birth control?! Well that was fun."
H: "Meh."
"I want a do over. Soon."
*he reaches over and hands me my toy.*
"Humph."
*wink wink*
Husband: "Ohh, ribbed for her pleasure. And on clearance! Sweet."
"For that price, we should probably buy them, ya know, to test them out."
H: "Yeah. That's totally the reason . . . for the greater good."
"Well, it might be a good idea anyway. With me not working, it'd be the absolute worst time for us to have an 'accident', ya know what I mean?"
H: "Fine. Good point. Very good point."
--- Later that evening ---
H: "Here. You can put it on."
"Awesome. I love when you talk dirty to me."
"Oh my god. I feel as if I haven't done this in a decade."
H: "Yep. It's been about that long!"
"I feel like a teenager!"
H: "Oh yeah. I always forget about your slutty high school years."
"This, as you're trying to get me to put a condom on your cock? I love you, baby."
H: "Uh huh."
"Ohh, I remembered to leave room at the tip!"
--- A couple minutes later ---
H: "Am I in?"
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ARE YOU IN? YES, YOU'RE IN."
H: "I can't feel anything."
*pound pound*
"Anything? You're pounding just fine."
*pound pound*
H: "Do you feel the ribbing?"
*pound pound*
"Umm. Nope."
*pound pound*
"Are you going to be able to finish if you can't feel it?"
*pound pound*
H: "Oh yeah. I'm close."
"But you can't even feel anything? Life is tough for you, babe. Humm."
*pound pound*
H: "Here I come!"
*rolls over*
"Here's a tissue for that ribbed disappointment . . . where is it?"
H: "Ugh. I dunno."
"YOU'RE MEANT TO HOLD ON TO IT WHEN YOU WITHDRAW."
H: "Oops."
*I fished the condom out of my hoohaa*
"It was unsatisfying for both of us, kind of, and didn't even work as birth control?! Well that was fun."
H: "Meh."
"I want a do over. Soon."
*he reaches over and hands me my toy.*
"Humph."
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