"X" is for Xrated

Do you ever speak X rated?? 

I don’t know about you, maybe it is just me and all the people that I hang out with, but our BBQ talk seems to devolve.

You know, I have always wanted to have one of those BBQ’s, where we wear little polo shirts and polo skirts and there is white linen and crystal wine glasses to sip from.  

Where music is gently playing in the background, children are minded by all of their own nannies so that the adults can have hi-flutin’ conversations.  

Discussions about the state of the economy, whether or not your Rolls Royce is stocked with Grey Poupon, the cost of domestic help, how my 1% salary can influence small countries. 

You know, shit like that.

Instead, most of my BBQ’s look something like this.

Conversations revolve around how fake titties really feel.

Pictures that are taken involve showing us your drink and your gang sign of 2 in the pink and 1 in the stink.   

What have you ever pulled out of someone’s ass (remember most of my friends are either cops or firemen)

The grossest dead body that you have ever seen

Old people in nighties rubbing against you

Taking pictures of the size of your shit to show your friends, cause, Dude it was EPIC – it breached out of the water.

Can you really spin a midget on your penis?

Regurgitation of what space docking, Portuguese breakfast, goatse, and other strange internet phenomena’s.  Also, you must Google and then show said BBQ friends on your iPhone.  (Note to blog readers:  DO NOT ATTEMPT, ONCE LEARNED, IT CAN NOT BE UNLEARED)

Why stretchy vagina’s leak and with that the art of bling bling’ing your hoo hoo.

The shows with people’s strange addictions, real dolls, and what type of vibrators you own.  (Note to party friends – Bringing out said appliances is NOT socially acceptable) 

Why people like to pretend to be horses, have naked people saddle them and ride them.  (Personal thoughts – I don’t like to get dusty naked)

Making techno music noises why you show me your best stripper pole dancing impersonation (and no, this is not the girls doing this)

Also bringing out your old furrbie costume to show me you still have mad skills kind of ewws me out.  I do NOT want to feel how soft it is and really the crusty patches made me kind of vom in my mouth!

After writing all of this out, I think I will take the X rated parties – at least I know here my bellowing out F-U-C-K will be answered back with a I’ll beer ‘ya call.

(PS - Newt if you are reading this, I promise (hand to God) to not blog his name or take pictures if you will invite him over.  I've got serious questions that need to be answered)

Verily, its all about the Va-jay-jay

Kind of like this...but lower

I bet you didn’t know that there was a vajazzling website??  

Pffffttt, hell, neither did I…Did you know there are “how to” videos on this site?  NEITHER DID I…..Holy Spaceballs.  Did you know that people can submit their own pictures??
  

this was a "mild" picture!!!

ACCKKKKK….disco balling my lady bits…what is the world coming to??

If you are so inclined….VISIT here…They call themselves the "official" Vajazzling Site

Apparently, you can also get Vaginoplasty and have your lady bits tightened and restored so that your vagina and supporting structures get rebuilt. 


 Also, if you are feeling a little bit down in the dumps and low on self-esteem, you can also get a labiaplasty so that you can “recreate a more youthful and aesthetically pleasing external genital structure, which will enhance your self image and self-esteem!!”

I didn’t know that my bits were “aesthetically pleasing” in the first place??  And seriously people, you HAVE to thank me for not showing you the pictures that I witnessed during my research.  OMFGAWD, seriously one hoo-hoo looked like it had one of those tube worms (you know the kind that you see in warm ocean waters) coming out of their labia.

Or having plastic surgery to re-attach your hymen so that you can “re-create “ your virginity.  Seriously, seriously.  It wasn’t a basket of flowers losing it in the first place, why on earth would I want to re-create that sweaty, groping, painful, short moment?  I’ll take my experience, Hubby’s serious experience and morph them together into a toe curling session that will knock my boots off.  Pffttt…go back to the beginning…no fucking way.

 Of course, my girls chose that exact moment to check out what I was doing on the computer and we had to stop for a minute and talk about our lady bits and why things looked a certain way.

This then reminded me about all the things that my mom never told me to watch out for when having girls….

For instance……..

A discussion on why Barbie’s feet do not get inserted into our privates when we are in the bathtub.

Why we can’t fit bathtub letters up there either, for that matter.

Why it isn’t acceptable do walk around naked and smack our private parts while dancing.

Or that your girls from infant to 3 can get labial adhesions where the hole totally closes up??  Yeah, that one was a little scary when I changed the diaper of Girl #1.  I swear I sat there for a moment and was like????  I picked her up, turned her over and started counting holes.  I swear to god, for a minute I almost got a mirror to check myself.  After hyperventilating for a second, I called the Pedi – apparently its totally normal and with a little topical hormonal cream, it opened back up.  Although, the pediatrician did not appreciate my hubby’s humor of asking if we could keep it that way until she was 18. 

To quote Joe Rogan…embrace the power of the pussy…but just don’t show me.  And chillax on the bedazzling....your hoo hoo is blinding me!!

Ooops, I did it again

If you had to think of words to describe me, they would be grace…..the ability to float like Jesus over the water when she walks…..ethereal…..the epitome of ballerina like reflexes. 

Yep, that is right; I am filled with 100% of B.S.  What you should be thinking is if Mr. Bean met Pigpen and they had a cute little baby girl.  That would be me.  I have the innate ability to trip over a leaf on the ground, creating a massive cloud of dust, whip myself off the ground and try to appear as if nothing happened and I meant to do that.

Knee Injury

So in the past two weeks, I have fallen twice and injured the same hand, the same knee and fucked up my shoulder in the same area (twice).  

The first fall was entering a crack house trying to recover a plastic body for my friend Mandi,(Mandi's New Baby) and the second time was just the other day in the lobby of my office.  

Mandi’s adventure was a little higher octane, since I was entering a dark building.  And let me tell you what dark is…this place is so dark that the light from my flashlight is absorbed by the pitch blackness.  Not even Riddick with his shine on would get much here.  So, keeping one eye on the flashlight in front of me and one eye for either dead bodies or zombies, I try to find the stairs to access the crack pen where Mandi’s doll lives.  That’s when I hear the bang and the dragging sounds….and I freak the shit out.  So while running for my life, I trip and slide across a floor that I don’t even want to mention or think about the substances that might be on this floor.  As I am scrambling madly to right myself and not get eaten by the Zombie crack whores, I realize that it’s just the maintenance guy.  Apparently I scared the shit out of him too and he was trying to chase me down with his baseball bat.  Once we realized that we were friendlies, we donned the necessary plastic gloves and the large plastic bag in which we placed her well used body.  We limped out of the building like wounded soldiers, squinting at the bright light and breathing fresh clean (well, industrial fresh clean air) non-malt liquor scented air.  Maintenance Bob went back to chasing vagrants with his baseball bat and I went to the UPS store to mail off the girl to Mandi.  I also didn’t want to leave in too long in my car….you know….in case of it contaminating my vehicle.

My second trip down memory lane involves the lobby of my office…..

Yeah, the lobby of my office, right in front of everyone, and no you rat bastards I wasn’t wearing crazy tall shoes….I was just walking, into the lobby.  I opened the beautiful glass doors of the lobby of my company, and try to breeze in looking all Audrey Hepburn with my black gaucho pants and cute little sweater set, with my sunglasses on my head and my hair all nice.  That was, until I went down in a blaze of glory, the blaze so great that stuntmen would have wept for the sheer drama of my fall.  I think that I rolled twice, head over heels, complete with purse and workbag, and arms and legs until I finally reached the end of my summersault where I lay catatonic for a moment.  After gathering my wits, and the remnants of my pride (ah hell, who am I kidding, this happens so often, I am not sure what face I can save) I rise….and walk, hobbling to my office where I bang my head on my desk, repeatedly.

So today I sit at my desk wondering if these shoes + my “easy button” might help me out today.  

PS - After work, I am going to hit the treadmill....wish me luck!

Is that a gun on your Vagina?

Annie....bitch, get your GUN

So, I am currently working on a project to turn a crack house into a refurbished residential "live/work" space.  Essentially, it will eventually turn into a crack house, but for right now we are going to pretend that people aren't complete douche-canoes and they will treat this new building with over 100 units with "R-E-S-P-E-C-T"  Ah...ha ha... 

This place is dark, and scary, and there are boarded up rooms where I get to play pretend cop/commando and kick open doors so that I can (1) Run away and scream like the girl that I am if anyone is in there or (2) that the dead body that is in the room will get hit by the door and I wont have to stand there long before I run away and scream like a girl.  

It was in one of these moments that I found this.....in a room....with other things.  

Armed with my mag light...cause really...if you are going to "play" cop you need a good set of handcuffs and a mag light.  Since I was at work, the handcuffs had to stay at home, but the fucking mag light...its on bitches.

So as I kick open the door, I notice the smell...EWWWWKK....and then I notice the bottles of 409, blankets, a mini coleman stove, the obligatory druggie mess (needles, stash shit, etc) and in the corner was this........

There are a couple of things to note on this picture....the artwork, the gun at the vagina, the beer wrapped in a paper bag cozy, the flames on one side of the boobie and maybe water art on the other boobie?,  the fact that it has some sort of strap to help anchor it to your body, and the one thing that you cannot see which I refused to get any closer to "Manny" (my name for her) was the "shine" on its lower half.  

Manny....you are a dirty whore and I refuse to touch you.  Some poor subcontractor is going to have to remove you from my job.

As I walk out of the back crack ho office, I notice this piece of lovely art on the wall.....(and as side note, don't get me wrong, some of the art work in here is pretty good)

But that FAT PUSSY.........

  

That bitch has marked her territory ALL over my fucking building.  She has even put her mark on the EXTERIOR of the building.  

Fat pussy is one territorial bitch.  

I think that I saw her today at one of the four liquor stores that are at each of my building corners. 

 No, I am not shitting you.....a liquor store on every corner.  

And with that......I'm done blogging about the "writing on the wall"