That Boy Is Poison

It's like you're a drug
It's like you're a demon I can't face down
It's like I'm stuck
It's like I'm running from you all the time
And I know I let you have all the power
It's like the only company I seek is misery all around
It's like you're a leech
Sucking the life from me
It's like I can't breathe
Without you inside of me
And I know I let you have all the power
And I realize I'm never gonna quit you over time

I believe in soul mates. I believe that there is one person out there whose soul is perfectly matched with yours. If you are lucky, it is the person that you fell in love with, married and are blissfully spending the rest of your livelong days with in perfect harmony.

I did not. My soul mate is poison.

I met, lets call him X, a little over 11 years ago. We became fast friends; nothing physical, just friends. We talked alot on the phone and hung out down by the beach. I was dating my ex boyfriend at the time and soon began dating TH. X and I still spent time together and talked on the phone every few days. His job required him to work with my company and we saw each other quite frequently.

It's like I can't breathe
It's like I can't see anything
Nothing but you
I'm addicted to you
It's like I can't think
Without you interrupting me
In my thoughts
In my dreams
You've taken over me
It's like I'm not me
It's like I'm not me

TH never liked X. He always said that X wanted me and I was just too silly to know it. Maybe that was true, but I didn't see it that way. I love being around him and talking to him. It was a drug. It made me feel good. He made me feel special, always listened to me with interest and made me feel like I was the most important person in the world. We clicked perfectly. I never once felt anything other than friendship and never once gave X a reason to think otherwise. (He had some large personality flaws that I found a distasteful, thus negating any chance for romantic love) I was quickly falling head over heels in love with TH and knew that he was the guy I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Life was amazing. I had two unbelievable men in my life. One I loved with all my heart and one that made my soul feel whole.

TH (FINALLY!) proposed on Christmas Eve after 8 years of dating.

X was one of the first few that I called with my happy news. He was silent for a moment and the said something that torn my heart from my chest. "You know that you're just doing it for the money."

Money? What money? I knew that X was jealous of TH's success, but did he really think that I was that kind of person? My soul cracked at that very moment. We just broke. Things have never been the same. Nothing has ever been the same since that day.

If I called X, he would be distant, mean spirited and cruel. Then he would be kind, then cruel, then kind. But I still called him. I couldn't stop.

I'm hooked on you
I need a fix
I can't take it
Just one more hit
I promise I can deal with it
I'll handle it, quit it
Just one more time
Then that's it
Just a little bit more to get me through this
I'm hooked on you
I need a fix
I can't take it
Just one more hit
I promise I can deal with it
I'll handle it, quit it
Just one more time
Then that's it Just a little bit more to get me through it.

I'm not stupid. By this time, I had obviously figured out that he felt more for me than I did for him. But I felt I had to call him. My chest would hurt if I thought about it and didn't call. It felt like pieces of me were missing. Why couldn't I have the love of my life and my soul mate too? Life just wasn't fair.

I decided to put an end to it. I was hurting myself and him too. I called and told him that we couldn't speak or see each other ever again. He agreed.

Well, that lasted for 3 months. I broke down and called him. He was kind and then verbally stabbed me again. Another piece of my soul broke off.

I've never had an addiction to anything bad - drugs, alcohol, etc - my personality just doesn't support it. But, clearly, I am addicted to X. If this is what it is like trying to come clean from a substance abuse problem, than I admire those who have succeeded. Never in my life have I worked so hard for something.

It's been 6 months. I have deleted his number from my cell phone (I'm happy I never memorized it) and I stay away from his usual haunts. I am slowly coming clean. There was a small incident this past Christmas. I returned home from Christmas Eve festivities and saw a missed text on my cell phone. It was just three words "Merry Christmas Serena. The number looked familiar, but I couldn't place it with a name. Then a chill went down my spine and I ran upstairs to check my old phone book. It was him. I sat on that text for 12 hours before I sent one back: "You too."

I still feel like a part of me is missing, like I'm not whole inside. Like any drug, I know that X is bad for me. But, I would give anything for a fix right now.

Why I'll Never Be A Good Yogi

I know that I've been AWOL lately. I'm trying to catch up, really I am. It's just that I'm tired. No, I'm not whining. I really am tired. Exhausted, as a matter of fact. I have been working my fat ass off at the gym. TH has been in perfect attendance as well; the couple that works out together, stays together. They also have no sex life. Due to the tireless reps, the classes, the iron that is pumped and the miles that are logged, we are as limp as wet noodles. Muscles are screaming, joints are aching and energy levels are low. Our sex life has been reduced to a kiss goodnight, a loving look and uttering the word "Sex?". My beloved toys are gathering dust as I nurse my aching glutes and rub my throbbing hamstrings. They always say the first few weeks are a killer. Now I know that the thing being murdered is my libido. Don't be alarmed! I have done this before. In another week or two, I will be bouncing with energy and twice as frisky as before. Be afraid, be very afraid! Exercise has a way of making me as horny as a teenager in heat.

Bored with lifting and bumping endlessly along on the treadmill, bike and elliptical thingy, I decided to look into the classes. Disappointed that they STILL aren't offering strip aerobics, I selected a yoga classes. I've taken yoga before so this wasn't a new activity for me. I'm not the great at it, but I can stumble along with the best of them. My poses aren't pretty. I know that you're suppose to ease into the stretch and breathe. Well, you can't tell that to a former gymnast. I was taught to stretch until your muscles are throbbing and then stretch some more. The teachers are always frustrated with me. "Use the block", they say. "Don't try to do to much to fast". Meanwhile, I'm trying to get by foot behind my head even though I feel like my neck is going to snap.

I'm at my first class and there are four of us, including the instructor. We're easing into the routine and sitting in the lotus position. We're breathing in unison and relaxing our minds. I can't relax. I've got 50 things running through my head and none of them are relaxing. I'm planning dinner, running through my schedule for the next day and wondering whose feet smell like cheese. The instructor tells us to take a deep breath in and let it out with a "HAAAAAAAA". We all breathe out in unison when "RUUUUUUUUUHHHHP!" The instructor lets out the biggest, juiciest fart. Not only was it loud, but the wood floor we were sitting on made it echo through-out the room. I was able to feel the vibration travel across the floor to where I was sitting.

You all know how I feel about bodily functions. I regress right back to being seven years old. Thank God everyone else had their eyes closed in relaxation as I watched my reflection in the mirror turn purple with suppressed laughter.

I know that farting is acceptable in yoga. In fact, anything natural is acceptable. The body is suppose to be in a relaxed state with energy shooting out of it. Natural gas seems to be one of those energy forces.

We make it through the next 45 minutes with only a few toots. I was concentrating on tearing all of the ligaments from my bones, so I was able to tune out her "energy shots". We were winding down the routine and sitting in Child's Pose, (If you don't know what this looks like, you should click the link to get the full effect of this) when she must have had a big boost of energy. RRRRRRRUUUUUUUHPPP! and then she breathed out "AAHHHH!"

I am in the pose, shaking with laughter. I can barely breathe and tears are streaming down my face.

Thankfully, this woman was just a fill in for the normal instructor, who doesn't fart, by the way. It appears that I will never be a true Yogi. There is no way I would let one rip in class, no matter how relaxed I am.

This other instructor makes me cry too. She is sadistic. I swear, the woman never stops for a second. All you people who think yoga is for pansy, think again.

Stay turned....I have cardio kick boxing tonight and I have no coordination.

I Own You

The air is still a bit heavy here in the office with the passing of The Cupcake Man. Thank you all for your kind comments the other day. We're all dreading the funeral on Sunday. It will be hard to say good bye. With that said, we're trying to keep things light and fun to remind ourselves how life should be and how he would want us to live. This week, we have devised a new way to keep ourselves amused.

I've told you all about my obsession with Facebook (aka Facecrack). Some of the guys in the office have pages and we're constantly exchanging barbs back and forth. It's like passing notes in school. I was particularly irritated with Partner #3 because he would delete my comments. They weren't nasty. He had changed is profile picture and I kindly commented that I thought the previous photo was better. It was! The new photo made him look old and was out of focus. Twice I made this comment and twice he removed it. This irritated me to no end and I decided to "de-friend" him. If he didn't want my comments, then he shouldn't have invited me to be his friend. He was lucky that I didn't publicly abuse him on Facebook. I was kind enough to save that for the office. I didn't think the general public and his family would appreciate me calling him a prick or a preppy wannabe. I'm professional that way. He was insulted that I de-friended him so I had to add him back on. Yes, ladies and gentleman, we're just a bunch of middle schoolers here. Tears are shed when someone doesn't want to be "friends". Thank God we put up a good face to the public. What would they think? Professional firm addicted to Facebook. Film at 11.

Just the other day, I received a status update that Partner #1 "purchased" me for $1. Having no idea what that meant, I clicked on the link. It opened up a page called "Owned". Apparently, if you have "friended" someone, you can "purchase" them. It's fake money and I'm still learning how this twisted game works. It's like slave trading online. It's one of those virtual things that I never can figure out. Like having Avatar and walking around make believe, virtual worlds. I don't get it.

Once Partner #1 put me up on the auction block, the bidding war started. Right now, some random guy in New Jersey "owns" me for 3 million dollars. If they bid for you, you get the money. I wish it was real. I could use a few million.

You can also "gift" someone as in a "human gift". Creepy, huh. Partner #1 thought it would be fun to gift me Partner #3 so I could "own" him. With all my money, I decided to buy everyone in the office. No one can outbid me because I have the most money.

I've made them all my bitches. I wish this thing was real.

( You should also know that I "own" Daddyfiles and BadAss too! Take that Lola!!!)

Going Green All The Way

I'm all for being eco-friendly. Our planet is so fucked up that I try to do my best to shrink my carbon footprint. I have become the recycling Natzi of the household. I have been known to shriek "Don't throw that away! We recycle that". I compost everything....veggie peels, apple cores, dryer lint, moldy bread, hair from hairbrushes (I know is sounds gross, but it works) sticks, leaves etc. I bring my own bags to the grocery store and I only have a retail store bag up something if I can't possible carry it out of the store as it is. I use both sides of every piece of paper and I'd rather put a sweater on than turn up the heat.

So, I'm on the phone the other day and I'm on hold (story of my life). While I'm on hold, I usually surf around the web for work, but I decided to skip on to MSNCB.com and read the entertainment and health news. I'm flipping through articles about Branglina, the Golden Globes and some new diet craze when I hit an article that was worthy of my time; Eco-Friendly Sex Toys.

You see, most sex toys are made of PVC and phthalates. Nasty stuff. The jury is out on just how harmful these materials are; the chemical companies say they're just fine, while environmentalists say they're like poring lead down your throat. Nevertheless, it's not good. Give the fact that I have a good sampling of most the products out there, I was a bit concerned about tainting my netherregions. They're sacred to me.



Instead of heading to the veggie drawer and going "au natural", I decided to Google up some alternatives. Of course, TreeHugger.com has the perfect solution: The Solar Powered Vibrator. No more batteries, just leave the solar panel out in the sun for 7 hours and enjoy buzzing for at least an hour. But, what do you do if you live in Alaska during the time that it's dark for days at a stretch? Do UV lights work?

The Sensual Vegan has become my new favorite place to shop. I may raz the veggies about not eating cow but they are a bunch of sex freaks! I'm loving it. Any site that promotes literature such as "The Ethical Slut" and "Anal Pleasure and Health" is my kinda place.

So I have found a way to save the planet, one orgasm at a time. Whose with me?

Farewell to Cupcakes

On Monday night the world lost a great man. The Cupcake Man, my mentor, co-worker and friend passed away. He'd had a stroke in October and had been battling back when pneumonia hit him unexpectedly. I spent last Saturday afternoon with him and I'm happy that I was able to give him a hug and kiss before I lost him. If I had known that was that last time I'd see him I would have told him how much he meant to me and how the world was a brighter place because he was in it. I didn't tell him how much I would miss his hugs, his smiles and the way he laughed so hard sometimes that no sound would come out. How I would miss his annoying habits, his impossible demands, the sheets of paper written in longhand that were illegible to every one including him and constant phone calls that lasted an hour because it took him that long to explain a simple task. I will miss his stories and his inappropriate comments about my outfits that may have seemed perverted to some, but he always found away to make it seem gentleman like. I will miss how he would place his hand on the right side of his face when he discussed things with you that were of great importance. I will miss his positivity, his kindness and his tendency to "over share" medical problems. I will miss the bags of treats he use to bring me. Every time he saw a delicious dessert while he was out at lunch, he would have them wrap it up and bring it back to the office for me. I will miss our long talks about food and restaurants we'd both visited.

We are all devastated and the news still hasn't sunk in.I dedicate this post to him. I miss you, my friend.

A Bit Random

Today is the day to get memes out of the way. (Hey, that rhymes). Otherwise they pile up and make me crazy. I'm still recovering from the crazy, fun and hellish Sunday night that was the Metallic concert (details coming soon, lovers). So, I thought I would be a bit random and lazy. Here's a meme from Badass. If you don't read his shit, you're a loser. He's funny, sweet, crazy and a hell of a writer. You can also watch Lola and I fight for his affections.

The random questions

Where is your cellphone? I think it's in my purse. Or it could be in my desk drawer. I don't know. I'm sure it's going to ring or vibrate or something any minute.

Where is your significant other? I'm pretty sure he's at work. At least I hope he is. If he's off stalking Jennifer Aniston again we're gonna have to talk.

Your hair color? Blond (with very bad roots. Yes, I need to get them done. I KNOW!!!)

Your family? I have some. I'm not sure what they're doing right now. Thank God they don't live to close to me. They drive me nuts sometimes.

Who you miss the most? It changes daily. Right now I miss an old friend.

Your favorite thing? Food. I love rich, amazing food.

Your dream last night? Nothing, Nada, Zip! I was jipped last night!

Your dream/goal? I want to own a used bookstore/coffee house. I know it's very cliche. But I want to be surrounded by two things I love. Books and caffeine.

The room you're in? My office (aka my cell in Satan's workshop)

Your hobby? Cooking, reading, knitting, working.
Your fear? Driving over really big bridges

Where do you want to be in six years? A Partner in this company. (don't hold your breath on that one.)
Where were you last night? Hanging out at home, making banana bread, watching "24" (Jack Bauer is so hot!!) and trying to make my laptop talk to my new Crackberry.

What you're not? In shape, big boobed, rich or well rested

One of your wish list items? Boobs!

Where you grew up? Cape Cod

The last thing you did? Texted Partner #3, told him that he was quoted in today's paper and called him a media whore. (God, that felt awesome!)

What are you wearing? Cowl neck grey wool sweater dress, smoke colored lace top thigh highs, black garter belt, black satin bra that is not making my boobs look any bigger, and knee high black leather 4 inch heel boots.

Your TV? It's a big huge flat screen. Whatta-ya-want from me? I don't know electronics.


Your pet? Big, dumb, adorable Boxer (dog) and a weaselly, pain in the ass border collie/lab mix (dog)

Your computer? My secret lover.

Your mood? Caffeinated

Missing someone? Every day


Your car? Jetta Wolfsburg. (sometimes a Porsche when I'm a good girl)


Something you're not wearing? Panties


Favorite store? Bookstore.


Your summer? Spent in the nude, lounging on my back porch

Love someone? As much as possible


Your favorite color? Purple


The last time you laughed? Right after I texted Partner #3. It was a cackle of glee!

The last time you cried? This weekend after I visited the Cupcake Man in rehab. It's so hard for me to see him like that!

And here is my award from Kat over there at 3 Bedroom Bungalow. If she hadn't moved over the big pond to England, I would be whining for her to come visit me. She is the cats pajamas! Go visit her and read about her adventures in the land of fish and chips.


I have to write more random stuff about myself. It's not like I'm a close book here. This is a tough one. Here I go:

1) I am terrified of snakes. When I was younger I thought they were cool. Now, they scare the shit outta me.

2) I practically never wear panties, but I love to buy them. They're so pretty and girly, yet I never wear them.

3) I want to learn Portuguese so I know what the Brazilian guys at the gym are talking about. I'm sure it's nothing important, but I hate that I don't understand it.

4) I want to dye my hair red for a day, just to see what it would look like. I was born a red head so I think I could swing it.

5) I worked for a garbage company and actually hauled trash for a few days when one of the guys was sick. It was the most disgusting job ever! People are pigs!

6) I hate the fact that TH doesn't wear his wedding ring. He doesn't like the feel of jewelry and won't even wear a watch. I try to understand, but it really bothers me.

7) Some day I plan to have black and white nude photos taken of myself.

8) I believe that the reason I haven't had the flu in over 2 years is that I drink at least a zillion cups of green tea a day. I pee alot, but I'm never sick.

9) I haven't shaved my legs in 4 days. I will have them shaved when I get those naked pictures taken.

10) I wish TH would be more romantic. I envy those couples that look like they're totally in love all the time. We're in love, but we don't look it.

11) At least once a week I want to quit my job. But, then I step back into reality.

12) I'm obsessed with checking my bank account balance on line. Not because it's huge, but that it's always shrinking. I hate being in debt.

13) I love, love, LOVE cheese. All kinds.

14) I feel showering in the morning is unnecessary if you showered just before going to bed. Big K disagrees with me and makes fun of me if I don't. How in the world do you get dirty while sleeping? I usually run in the morning so showering is necessary.

15) I am dying to go on a real sleigh ride.

16) I had great sex this weekend. It wasn't on a sleigh ride, though.

17) My gynecologist knows my mother and asks me about her when I'm in that embarrassing al fresco position. Dude, I'm on a table, my legs are splayed and my Whoo Ha is on display for the world to see. I don't want to talk about my mom.

18) Speaking of my mom, the woman is 5'1" tall and weighs 90 lbs soaking wet. My sister, brother and I are all at least 5'6" and built like a brick house. I have no idea how she birthed us.

19) She also knows that my gyno asks about her as I'm being poked. She thinks it's funny.

20) My brain had been emptied and I can't think of anymore things right now. But, as soon as I post this, ideas will flood my brain and I will be annoyed I didn't think of them 5 minutes ago.

That's me in a nutshell. This meme goes out to you, lovers!

It's Official...I'm on Crack

Remember when the lovely Lola sold her soul to the evil, demonic device known as Crackberry. Well, she now has company when she hits rehab. I'm officially a Crackberry Storm user.

The blessed P's bestowed this wonderful gift on me for Christmas. Fancy Pants bought himself one when they first came out and I was green with jealousy. He got it because he had an upgrade available. I was aching to have one but was to miserly to spend $500 on a phone when my currant one was only 9 months old and in top condition. If I had $500 to spend on a whim, you could be sure I would blow it on a pair of Manolos and not a new gadget. So the P's thought it would be a thoughtful present and they threw in a calling plan too. They would pay for all my cell bills. It only took me an hour before I realized that this was a present for them as well. Now that I'm on the company plan, I can't bitch about Partner #3's constant calling. He's footing the bill now. But, I love my new drug and I gave them each a hug as thanks. (See, another New Years Resolution solved!!! I'm trying, people!)

So I have this wonderful new toy that basically lets me take over the world from the palm of my hand. It emails, texts, IM's, browses, navigates, tells time, keeps a calendar, takes pictures, has visual voicemail, plays music, records music, takes videos, plays videos, walks, talks etc, etc.

I cannot figure out how the damn things works.

For 3 days, I wasn't receiving any phone calls but I could get voicemail. I whined to Fancy Pants and he informed me I had it on "airplane mode" (whatever the fuck that is). It's got this fabulous touchy, clicky screen instead of buttons. I use it like a drunken, 2nd grader. My fat little fingers never seem to touch the screen at the right area, thus enabling me to send a text message to Partner #3 that read: "I didn't find it on the agenda. I will put it in the que and sit on top of it." Of course, not trumping the message to Partner #1 that stated: "I will be on top of him and make sure it stays hard" (I'd wanted to say, "I will be on top of him and make sure it stays heard") Spell check didn't catch those suckers.

If I don't have it on vibrate (Ohhhh vibrations!), it is constantly making noise. Dinging, ringing, music, it never shuts up. It snarfs everytime something happens. There is a different sound for every action. The problem is, I can't figure out which action. It makes a sound, I pick it up and spend 10 minute figuring out which function happened. Did I get a text message, an email, an instant message, or heaven forbid....an actual phone call?

Very often I forget to lock the screen. So, when I jam it in my purse, something will push against the screen and dial someone, text someone or maybe reposition a satellite or two. I swear that this thing can do that.

But, my very favorite part of this beauty is the media feature. I was tapping around on the screen when suddenly a movie trailer started playing, starring Vin Diesel! My phone has Vin Diesel on it and it vibrates.

That's good enough for me!

Friendship Bread Without the "Friend"

I promise I won't whine (again) about my lack of female friends. You're tired of reading about it, I'm tired of writing about it, we're both just sick of it. But, this latest problem just takes the cake...or maybe I mean, the dough.

On Christmas Day, my grandmother handed me a ziploc bag of bread dough and a sheet of paper with a recipe on it: "Amish Friendship Bread". I had done this gig before and knew the drill. For those of you unfamiliar with this 10 day ritual, here's the deal:

1. You get the bag of dough from a "friend" along with a set of directions and the recipe.
2. You have to babysit the bag of dough for ten days. This includes, but is not limited to: mushing the bag, letting the fermented air out and adding 1 cup of flour, 1 cup of milk and 1 cup of sugar on day 6. The bag will sit on your counter for the entire time. I know it sounds gross, but it works. The Amish seem to know their bread just as well as they know quilts.
3. On day 10, you dump the dough into a non-metal bowl and add 1 cup of flour, 1 cup of milk and 1 cup of sugar. Mix this whole thing together.
4. Measure out 4 cups of dough and place each cup (1 cup) in ziploc bag and write today's date on the bag. Keep one bag for yourself and give the other bags to 3 friends. Follow the rest of the recipe and bake the remaining mixture into bread.

I did all of this and was left with a delicious loaf of bread and 4 bags of dough. Now, I was suppose to give the 3 bags to 3 friends.

Well, I don't have any friends.

So I decided that I'm going to keep all four bags because this bread is so delicious that I can just keep making it and freeze it.

Can you tell I failed math in college?

Yesterday was day 10 for the 4 bags of dough I had been babysitting. As I'm splitting the bags up into fours, I suddenly realized I was going to be left with 16 bags of dough. If I kept those going, in another 10 days I would have 64 bags of dough.

I threw the all the dough away. I just don't need that kind of pressure.

Aren't You Glad You Asked.

Oh Debbie. Darlin' Debbie. You must be so sorry that you memed me. You should know better than to ask me such a thing. It's only asking for trouble.

Well, we should really blame Casey from Half As Good As You. She's the one who meme Debbie and then Debbie memed me. Well, truthfully....Casey memed everyone. But, she should have known it would get back to me. So, blame Debbie or Casey. They are both at fault.

Here are the rules:

1. Go to your documents
2. Go to your 6th file
3. Go to your 6th picture
4. Blog about it
5. Tag 6 friends to do the same

Okay, first I should tell you a funny story about pictures. Long ago, before I received my shiny new laptop, there was another laptop. An evil laptop that was plagued with a virus. This laptop was so sick that it had to be taken to the laptop doctors and treated with virus protection. (See, you should always use a condom.) During the protecting process all of the data was destroyed. (I'm still too pissed about this to go into great detail.) When the laptop was returned to me (minus the evil virus and all of my fucking data), I desperately searched for any of my missing documents. As I waded through system files I came upon a small folder labeled "Pictures". Not sure what it was, I opened it. Much to my surprise I found some case file photos that I had downloaded for a Criminology class. I also found some photos that TH had downloaded while he was using my laptop. I started to laugh. I pictured the computer geeks coming across these photos during the data wiping process (that they were forbidden to do) and the horrified looks on their little faces as they saw the collection of autopsy pictures from my case files mixed with all the porn Big K had downloaded. Serves them right for losing all my music files!

Anywhoo....no pictures of bodies today. Here is my 6th file.


As soon as I find a kazoo, I'm trying this! I betcha I could do it!
Because the meming is out of control lately, I will leave this open to everyone!

A Badass Question

I've gotten tagged by the questions. The Pimp of the Bloggersphere, Badass Geek, has peppered me with five very unusual questions. When I offered myself at his feet and declared that I would answer any question he put forth, this is what he came up with. I admit, it must have been hard coming up with something. It's not like I hold anything back on here.

1) Do you doodle aimlessly when you are on the phone at work? If so, what do you find that you draw most often? Well, most of my time on the phone is in the office. Because I'm obsessive multi-tasker, I'm usually doing some other project while I'm talking on the phone. If I happen to be on the phone at home, I'm almost always doing chores, cooking or sometimes I'll just go to the bathroom. That's right...I said it. I have gone Number 2 while on the phone. Multi-tasking people! Multi-tasking! Oh sure, it's not gross when the idiots I work with do it with their cell phones. But, when I do it in the privacy of my own home, that's gross.

2) If you could be a fly on the wall and eavesdrop on any conversation in history, which would it be? I wanted to be there when Hilary yelled at Bill for getting white stuff on his pants.

3) You purchased the same type of scratch lottery ticket as homeless man did in front of you at a gas station, and it's a $1,000,000 winner. What do you do? Of course, I would have to share. That is after I had him fully examined for all psychological diseases and made sure he was competent. I'm generous, but not stupid.

4) Have you ever paid less than the required toll amount on the highway? Have you ever paid a stranger's toll? No. I'm too honest. Yes, I have paid someones toll. I love to confuse people with kindness. Once, I was in line for coffee and there was this really nasty guy a few people back from me who kept complaining about the wait. When I paid for my coffee I gave the girl $5 and told her to put it towards his bill and keep the change for herself. She asked me what she should say to the guy when he asked who paid for it. I told her to tell him that it was from someone who wishes he would be happier and nicer to people.

5) If you could pick the cast for an upcoming action-alien-romance movie, who would you pick? Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. I'm sorry. I'm a chick. I just have to see them together one last time!

Fierce Hunter of Squirrels

This past weekend I had a very sad task. I had to clean out the Cupcake Man's office.

Last October, my dear, sweet Cupcake Man had a very bad stroke. So bad, in fact, that he is still in rehabilitation and will probably never return to work in the office. I miss his pain the ass requests, his constant phone calls (he's one step below Partner #3) and the never ending deliveries of sweet, calorie laden treats that "I've just gonna try". His office has been vacant since his episode and the P's decided that it was time. Surfer Dude is going to be moving into the office. I'm happy for him, but at the same time it's bittersweet.

As I packed up his files and every single piece of mail that he's received since he was hired (the man was a huge pack rat!) I was reminded of the months after my grandfather died. To truly feel happiness and sadness at the same exact moment, clean out the personal effects of someone you've loved after they have passed. You will be overwhelmed with happy memories as you are mourning their death.

My grandfather was the most organized man on the planet. He labeled and cataloged everything. One of TH's favorite memories is having a tour of my grandfathers basement workshop. Every single item was in its place, every widget perfectly labeled and every machine blown free of sawdust and looking like it had been just purchased off the showroom floor instead of being used hours before. As we were walking past the shelves of boxes, all carefully labeled with black magic marker on masking tape he spotted one box on the shelf and began to laugh. The box was very carefully labeled "Empty Box".

My grandfather kept an old, metal army surplus desk and he use to sit there as he cataloged, labeled and organized the household. Several months after his death my grandmother was looking for some important papers and came across something that still, to this day, has the family laughing: My grandfather was a squirrel hunter (and a very poor speller)
The war against the squirrels began many, many years ago when my grandmother became a bird lover. She had multiple bird feeders and they all were being ravaged by squirrels. So my grandfather, who was an excellent marksman, began to take drastic measures to rid the yard of the pesky squirrels.

Up until now, you would think that they lived in the back woods of Kentucky. No Siree! They live in the cute little suburban town of Sharon, MA. Population 17,033 and home of the famous Revolutionary War hero Deborah Sampson and the Patriots, Matt Cassel.

We never knew he was keeping a tally, but we had witnessed his "tail" collection. This gruesome discovery was made by my mother and myself. We were in the shed, looking for a shovel when we spotted them dangling from the rafters. He even had a few chipmunks up there too.

I know, I know...you're thinking that this was a 75 year old serial killer in the making. But, I will tell you that he did try the "no kill" method of trap and release. But, this never worked and the fluffy, tailed rodents just kept returning to the scene of the crime.

This is in my blood, y'all! I got his crazy "organize/label everything" gene. What's next? Running around in my nightie with a shotgun hunting squirrels?

Take A Stand

Everyone is aware of my problem with bathroom humor and anything that has to do with flatulence. Just the mere thought of it makes me bubble up with laughter. After all, I am a kid at heart.

In yesterdays post, I made mention of the desire to pee standing up thus not to pee on my shoes or make the walk of shame into the woods to find a trees to crouch behind so no one views my shiny white hiney. Fancy Pants was in the middle of reading my post when he suddenly exclaimed "Hey, they have those things for women that let you pee standing up. I've seen them online" (I chose not to questions his knowledge as not to get anymore about why he might have seen them. The boy scares me sometimes)

Curiosity got the best of me and I fired up Google. Sure enough! Type in "girls peeing standing up" and there is information galore!

My lovers, I give you the Whizzy!


Directions: Facing the toilet, stand a few inches away from it. Outdoors, stand with your back to the wind. Move clothing as necessary. Hold Whizzy by the easy-grip handles. With it flat or slightly unfolded, slide either end between your legs until it covers your entire pubic area. Open it, forming a V-shape. Hold it against your body. Point the other end slightly downward. Relax, aim and go! As you finish, wipe forward with Whizzy.
Doesn't it look uncomfortable? If this doesn't work for you, you may like to try the P-Mate. I couldn't find directions for this one, but if in a pinch I think I might be able to figure it out.
I wondered if women were actually using these bizarre devices. Well, I stopped wondering real quick.

These are actually photos of women using these things at fairs and outdoor conventions. I have a strict "No porta-potty" rule. I will not, under any circumstances use one of those nasty, smelly septic coffins. I don't care if I have to walk a mile, in public, holding my crotch. I will not sit over a pile of human waste (that I actually have to see the moment I enter) with a container on my right that the last guy just peed in. NO FUCKING WAY! To avoid those nasty things, I've gone next to cars, in a marsh on the side of the road (ruined a nice pair of heels there) and other really public places.
I might just order this Whizzy thing. Ladies, would you use one?

Mommy, The Big Kids Won't Play With Me

It's tough being the only girl in a office full of guys. It's not just the obvious things; not having a penis, not being able to pee standing up, having to yell at them when they use the ladies room and don't put the seat down. Those things I can handle. I'm sure it might be nice to have a penis. I would love to pee standing up so I could just give it a shake and leave, not having to hunt around in the car for a discarded napkin to take on my journey into the woods, find tree to hid behind as I try not to pee on my feet. I'm pretty sure that I'll never get them to put the seat down in the ladies room. That's not as bad as not replacing the toilet paper, which someone failed to do on Monday!
It's the not so obvious things that make it difficult. These guys all hang out with each other in one way or another. In the summer its family barbeque's, days out on the boat, golfing, Red Sox games etc. Most of these activities happen on the weekends. On Monday mornings, they're laughing about this and that, reliving the fun and games. This past Monday, I overheard talk of sledding and the "You should bring the kids over and try out this hill" It gives me that twist in my stomach. Like I'm in 5th grade again and all the girls are talking about a slumber party from the previous weekend. A slumber party I wasn't invited too. Whether or not you were great friends, it still stung a bit when you weren't included.

It seems that I miss out on everything because I don't have kids. I never get the "We're gonna hang out at the beach this weekend with a few of the families. Why don't you come over?" Girlfriends with children don't want to hang out because you don't come with a side of "mini-me", thus enabling a "play date" on top of the girl time. I haven't seen an old friend of mine in almost a year because she is "so busy" with work, kids and all that stuff. You would think that she lives in another state rather than 15 minutes from my house. If I happen to get 5 minutes on the phone with her, she will have news of activities that include her other friend....the one with kids. Apparently she's not "so busy" when it comes to her.

I've never been the type of girlfriend to have the ironclad "no kids" rule when hanging out. Hey, if you can't get a sitter, but you want to hang out, just bring them! I love kids! We can hit the playground, beach, whatever. I'm easy. Just because I don't have them doesn't make me a monster. I have to wonder....if I came in a more traditional package - husband, kids, golden retriever, house with white picket fence & pool, drove a mini van - instead of this package - husband, no kids, 2 high energy insane dogs, house that's filled with loud electronics, guitars & porn, drives a sport car - would I be invited to all these events? Is it the fact that "why don't you bring the kids?" is missing from the invitation?

Is It Karma?

Having no religious background to speak of, I believe in the church of "treat others as you would have them treat you". Obviously, there are unique cases in which this doctrine fails me. But all in all, I love everyone equally until they give me a reason to hate their guts and drag their name through mud. Having dabbled in Wicca (READ: watched too many movies, then read alot of books and maybe made a charm or two) I also believe that what ever you do comes back to you x3. If you throw something negative out there its probably gonna come back and take a big bite outta your ass.

When bad stuff happens to me, I always think back on what I could have done to bring it into my life. Was I mean to someone? Did I wrong someone? Did I think poorly about someone? etc, etc. I consider myself a good person and when shit happens, it pisses me off.

Lately, I've had some really good stuff come my way. For example:

On Xmas, I always try to do a little something. Every time I pass a Salvation Army kettle I throw a few bucks in. (this year they were EVERYWHERE! I bet I gave at least $50 or more).
I also pick a specific charity to focus on. This year I chose a place called Angel House. It is a shelter for women and children that are the victims of domestic violence. I called up and asked what they needed and was told that they were all set, but would love to have some stocking stuffers for the kids. I was happy to oblige and they emailed me a list of all 26 kids. (Breaks your heart, huh!) Money has been tight this year and that amount of presents wasn't really in my budget. But I figured I could dip into my savings and it would work. Well, just before I was about to go shopping for the 26 items I got hit with a bill to renew my car insurance. Merry Fucking Christmas. As you all know, I live in Massachusetts, the land of the highest insurance plans....EVER! Even better....to renew, you are required to submit a check for 3 months worth of payments. I was stressed out. Here it was, the day before Xmas Eve and I had promised to deliver these toys the next day and I didn't have enough cash to pay for them all. I was about to make the dreaded phone call to Big K and ask him if he wouldn't mind me putting it on a credit card, when Partner 2 walked into my office with an envelope. "Merry Christmas" he said as he tossed it on my desk. In the envelope was a Christmas card, signed by him and a scratch ticket. I never win at scratch tickets or if I do, I win a dollar. I scratched off the silver junk to reveal that I'd won $100.00! Cash problem solved! The toys were delivered on time! Christmas was saved.

These random things happen to me all the time. One year, I found some ladies purse that she'd left in a shopping cart outside a grocery store. I just dropped it off at the local police station and didn't think about it after that. The next day, the tire went flat on my car. I was struggling to get through school and working part time. I was worried I wouldn't have the money to get a new one. Two days later, I got a call from the police station asking me to come down and pick up an envelope. In it was a card and $200.00 cash. The purse woman had written me a thank you letter and called me her "Angel".

The universe has funny ways to show you its magic. Let that be a lesson to you.

Adventures with Firecrotch - Sangria, Buttons and Sex Talk

I left work early on Friday......on my on accord....without being threatened with termination or forced vacation. See, I'm already hitting one of my New Years Resolutions: Thou shall work less, enjoy life more. It was a slow day and I still had all my vacation time to use up from 2008. I grabbed 2 hours of it and hit the road at 3 pm. I had made plans to see a matinee with Firecrotch, Surfer Dudes girlfriend. A charming, pocket sized, red haired lass that can drink me under the table at 24 years old. Surfer Dude introduced us a few weeks ago and she has become an interesting person to hang with. She loves stupid movies and sappy chick flicks. She also like to sneak booze into the theatre.

We decided to see "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button". I brought rations.



Yes, that is an enormous bottle full of Sangria. The same deadly poison I consumed on Christmas. Firecrotch is partial to white wine. So I made this batch with White Zinfandel. I had a bag of ice, plastic cups...we were good to go! I tucked it into a gigantic purse and smuggled it into the theatre. Who knew that fashion could be so versatile? I wonder what Jessica Simpson smuggles around in her gargantuan bag? I swear, her purses could double as suitcases.

Yes, I have a Jessica Simpson fetish. But, I digress....

And so we drank, we watched and we cried our pretty, little faces off. A note for the future: Sad movie and a drink that contains 4 different kinds of alcohol all mixed together to form a 1,000 proof cocktail....these things do not mix. We sniffed and blubbered the entire movie. Sure there were funny parts. We laughed. But, every scene that was a tiniest bit sappy, we were balling our eyes out. At the end, we were outright sobbing. The surrounding movie goers didn't seem to bat an eye. Of course, I did get a strange look as I poured the second glass. To the untrained, non-drinking ear it sounded like I was peeing on the floor and the smell of Peach Schnapps was heavy in the air.

I confess, I'm not a big fan of The Pitt. But, after a glass (and those are huge glasses) of Sangria, I was having sick, twisted fantasies about him.

Then the little, red haired girl and I decided to hit the local Mexican food bar to polish off a few more cocktails. Today, I am hating the fact that I decided on two gigantic Cabo Wabo Margaritas, on the rocks with salt. But, last night it seem perfectly logical to add yet another type of alcohol to the other 4 that were rolling around in my nearly empty stomach.

I will confess, (as I have in past posts) I never have luck with female friends. To date, the only other woman that I can honestly say I love hanging with is Daddyfiles wife, MJ. But, the poor girl has been stricken with stress and a nasty case of the flu. I am anxiously awaiting her return to normalcy. Firecrotch is a damn fine chick. I was hesitant to befriend someone who was that much younger than me. (24 yrs vs. 31 yrs) But, this girl is funny, super smart, can talk dirty with the best of them and has a level of maturity that far exceeds her age group. We compared sex toys and I gave her tips on enjoying anal sex. We discussed sexual positions, possible G-Spot locations and compared our men's sexual prowess. It was wonderfully refreshing to be so open about all of it and she didn't bat an eye. Then, just as easily as we discussed naughtiness, we launch into a banter on the art of war, books, crime and philosophy.

When I returned home at 11:30 PM (I was suppose to be home around 7ish), Big K was not amused at my tipsy state or the fact that I had totally abandoned the plan to bring home dinner and he had to make due with leftovers. The fridge was full of yummy stuff. Do not pity him. He also got some I'm-tipsy-so-I'll-try-to-Rock-Your-World marathon sex. He made out fine.

Whataboutme? Today, I am still burping up Sangria. If you wave a bottle of Peach Schnapps under my nose I will probably puke. I've eaten a huge bacon, egg and cheese bagel sandwich (Sorry Princess HASAY! Diet/gym starts Monday) and umpteen cups of coffee. My tongue feels like sandpaper and I reek of booze. I wasn't even drunk last night. Just pleasantly tipsy. Why do I smell like I've been embalmed in Sangria? Probably because I cried out all the water in my body and replaced it with alcohol. Damn Brad Pitt!

How Would I Explain That??

I seek to start the New Year off with a "BANG" in the naughtiness department. (I have been lacking, I know) I haven't begun the quest for my G-spot but I have been surfing some fun toy sites. (The office has been closed for 2 days, people. I've been B.O.R.E.D) I've been planning a trip to the "toy store" and search for something new.

I'm sure all of you think that my house looks like a den of sin. But, in reality, TH and I keep our naughty treats cleverly hidden from the world. The library of porn is stored in Rubbermaid tubs and placed in a closet. To the naked, unsuspecting eye, it looks like storage and not a mini dirty video store. My collection of toys is located in a beautiful woven box (Ha! I said, box!) next to my nightstand. Again, to the untrained eye, it looks like clever storage for whatnot's and widgets. But, how would I explain this?

Yup. That is a sex swing. And it's purple! My favorite color. I've always thought about getting one, but wondered how I would explain it's presence in the house. It could be a comfy chair for reading......maybe. I could always omit the huge stand thingy and have it hang from hooks in the ceiling. That way I could remove it when not in use. But, how would I explain the need to reinforce the ceiling beams? My father-in-law would be all over that....wanting to know why this project was taking place. Heavy plant hanger, maybe?

I've always wanted a stripper pole. Not only is it fun, but apparently good exercise too. The manager at the new fancy gym I just joined was horrified when I asked if they would be offering "Stripperobics". The Cape is so stuffy sometimes.

Anywhoo....I wondered what it would be like to have on in the house.
I found this photo on the net. Why on earth would you put a stripper pole in your entry way? I'm sure TH would love for me to greet him this way every night.

This would probably work out better. In a back room or something. For those of you that don't want to buy an already made pole there is a Web site that will teach you how to make one yourself. Is the internet fabulous or what! I wonder why this task was not listed in the "Daring Book for Girls". It should be!

Still, I don't know how I would explain said pole to the in-laws. For some odd reason, I know my mother would understand. She knows I'm a bit freaky. She tries to ignore it. I've been harping at her for years because she doesn't own a vibrator! Her birthday is on Jan 25th. I'm thinking that this is the year I get her one!

Again, the internet came through for me. I give you the portable stripper pole:

Don't you love her shirt! "Got Pole" I'm totally ordering one!

And for those of you that like to take your show on the water, I give you the boat pole:

 TH and I would be kicked out of the yacht club if we every did this. And again, my FIL would freak! (yes, we belong to a yacht club and only so we have a place for the boat. I wouldn't be caught dead at any of the functions). Imagine if we were docked up and I started dancing to "Baby Got Back", sliding up and down the pole. The other members would shit their Dockers!

I wish you much naughtiness for your New Year!