Ever since my horrid appearance on Craigslist, I've kept an eye on the postings. At first, it was to check the site for any mention of my name or blog. Then, I started reading the postings. Now, it's escalated to a thrice daily check of the Rants & Raves page for the ultimate in entertainment.
It is amazing the anger, effort and thought people put in to these postings. Some postings are many paragraphs long and full of venom. While I can understand the need to vent your furstrations, I cannot understand why people randomly write crap about people they don't know.
Ironic. I write random crap for people I don't know. Most of you I would love to meet. A few of you....mehh. We may need to meet in a public place. I shall employee 5 body guards and you shall talk to me in a walk-talkie. I love me some fans. But, a few of you....well, lets just say we'll be good friends on the internet.
I was scrolling through and came across the most interesting post:
Seeking a woman who is a good pole greaser to grease my pole. My pole is hefty and it will be in need of regular greasing to keep it in best of shape, so this could be an ongoing opportunity. This is a non-union, internship position, so there is no pay, but there is good experience, and it will look great on your resume. If you are eager and perform well, I'll make you a star.
The position can be demanding, and you should be ready to work at it for some time. So schedule plenty of time for it. You can take care of my pole at my location or yours. A good job could be rewarded with a fountain of surprises.
Applicants should send their picture and availability, as well as describe the attributes and talents that make them the best qualified pole greaser out there. A love of pole greasing will move you to the front of the line.
The position is open immediately. A tryout could be required.
Although I am an expert pole greaser, sadly, there is only one pole I'm in charge of greasing these days. If an of you can help out this poor man, check out Craigslist. I hate to see a furstrated lover out there; especially he is such a creative writer.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
For All Of You Searching For Me On Facebook
Alright, the Facebook drama will now be brought to a close. I've received tons and TONS of email complaining they can't find my page on Facebook. I have finally figured out why no one can find me.
I didn't set up the page correctly. Duh to me!
Sooooooo.....here is the link to the new page. FACEBOOK. It's also set up (correctly) on the link to the left of the page.
For those of you with amazing Spiderman like computer skills who found me I would be very grateful if you could switch over to the new and improved page. I will be posting to both pages for the next week or so, just to complete the transfer.
Love and good sex to you all this weekend!
I didn't set up the page correctly. Duh to me!
Sooooooo.....here is the link to the new page. FACEBOOK. It's also set up (correctly) on the link to the left of the page.
For those of you with amazing Spiderman like computer skills who found me I would be very grateful if you could switch over to the new and improved page. I will be posting to both pages for the next week or so, just to complete the transfer.
Love and good sex to you all this weekend!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
I See The Naughty In EVERYTHING!!
If you are a faithful reader, I know you have the twisted mind capable of finding the naughty in this photo. If not, drop me a line at utterlysinful@gmail.com. I will patiently explain it to you.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Random Wednesday - Tuesday Was Detox Day
I grabbed my husbands crotch the other day and asked him if he got excited. He say no. But thinking about his new Fender Strat was giving him a chubby. I have been replaced by a guitar. That's just fine. I will replace him with a new toy. So there.
I once dated a guy who liked the act of a blowjob, but didn't want me to "finish". From what I've heard, that's suppose to be uncomfortable.
I have read way too many conspiracy theory books. I'm just finishing up "The Rule of Four". It's getting to the point where I think I see things in paintings.
Thankfully, after the Great Gray Boob issue from Saturdays sweatasic day at the track, the undersides of my breast have returned to their normal color.
Don't you hate when you're asked for a nice photo of yourself, you look in your photo library and all you have is pictures of you grabbing your breasts, other peoples breasts or pictures with your fingers in your nose or making some sort of rude gesture?
Have you noticed that balls are always slightly cool? I find it strange. The penis is warm, but the balls have a lower temperature. Of course, this does not pertain to sweaty balls. It's such a brain teaser. I've really been working on that one for awhile. I'm gonna have to Google it.
There is way too much cake, chocolate and other dessert type items in my house right now. I'm suppose to be detoxing, not deciding if I should have one more sliver of cake or a Lollycake.
Okay, I've gotten to the bottom of the balls issue. The balls are cool because the sperm have to be kept at a temperature lower then body temp. I feel strangely unsatisfied with that answer. I was hoping for something more interesting.
Later, lovers.
I once dated a guy who liked the act of a blowjob, but didn't want me to "finish". From what I've heard, that's suppose to be uncomfortable.
I have read way too many conspiracy theory books. I'm just finishing up "The Rule of Four". It's getting to the point where I think I see things in paintings.
Thankfully, after the Great Gray Boob issue from Saturdays sweatasic day at the track, the undersides of my breast have returned to their normal color.
Don't you hate when you're asked for a nice photo of yourself, you look in your photo library and all you have is pictures of you grabbing your breasts, other peoples breasts or pictures with your fingers in your nose or making some sort of rude gesture?
Have you noticed that balls are always slightly cool? I find it strange. The penis is warm, but the balls have a lower temperature. Of course, this does not pertain to sweaty balls. It's such a brain teaser. I've really been working on that one for awhile. I'm gonna have to Google it.
There is way too much cake, chocolate and other dessert type items in my house right now. I'm suppose to be detoxing, not deciding if I should have one more sliver of cake or a Lollycake.
Okay, I've gotten to the bottom of the balls issue. The balls are cool because the sperm have to be kept at a temperature lower then body temp. I feel strangely unsatisfied with that answer. I was hoping for something more interesting.
Later, lovers.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Bristol Day 3 - 5 Corndogs, 4 Drivers Wrecked, 3 Pounds Heavier, 2 Overweight Lovers and 1 More Day Left
I am a glutton. A corndog swillin’, pulled pork scarfing, Southern style glutton. I have eaten everything from here to the Bristol Motor Speedway.
Okay, not everything. But, my breakfast/lunch did consist of 2 corndogs (one was a foot long), a “Burger Q” – a pulled pork sandwich topped with coleslaw - and a banana. I know the banana stands out and I think I should get credit for trying to be healthy. I have drunk at least 12 gallons of ice tea or lemonade. It’s EVERYWHERE!
TH ate a gigantic turkey leg
I was sitting next to him, gagging as he ate it. I had already emptied my trough and the sight and smell of that enormous meat stick was totally gross. The corn dog was not tasting so good as it was traveling back up my throat in the form of a burp.
The weather today wasn’t as warm as yesterday. So, all the fashion victims and Wal-Mart shoppers were bundled up against the cold and damp weather. I was unable to get any shots of any NASCAR fashion. But, the Easter bunny was sitting a few rows down from me.
It takes a very secure man to wear a hat like that.
It was a long, slightly damp race in which none of my favorite drivers did well and a few of them tore their cars to shreds. Of course, the driver who I can’t stand won the race. It’s tragic when you fly 2 ½ hours and spend an obscene amount of money to watch the biggest douchebag in the world win a race. But, if you’re not NASCAR fans, you probably don’t care about that. You’re probably reading this thinking, “What the fuck is she babbling about and when is she going to talk about sex.
Well, lovers, there will be no hot sex tonight. As they say in the sound, "I'm as full as a tick". We ate at the Chop House again. Remember what happened there yesterday? Well, tonight’s version is a little bit tamer.
The husband decided to go big and order the same thing as last night – gigantic sirloin and mashed potatoes. I was picturing myself naked after last nights filet minion orgy, so I eased back and ordered a small salad with sliced filet on top. Still totally awesome and still brought about a small food orgasm? Shall we call it a foodasm? Anywhoo, I still ate my face off. No asparagus this time. (This morning was sooo stinky). Our waiter, Sean, was a mad man with the ice tea. I would barely take two sips from my glass when another appeared at my elbow. So, I would drink more and more would appear. It was very unnerving and kinda like being pressured. Soon, I’d drunk nearly 6 glasses – these were big bar glasses filled to the brim. We’ve been back to the hotel for an hour and I’ve peed 3 times. For once, I’m spending more time in the bathroom than TH. (He’s in there now, by the way)
Have you every looked at two people – obviously a couple – and wondered how in the world do they have sex. As I was waiting in line for another corndog, I noticed two people sitting at a picnic table having lunch. The woman looked as if she weighed at least 300 pound and was barely 5 feet tall. The guy was at least 6 feet tall and easily weighed 350-400 pounds. How do they have sex???? How is it possible??? This is something I need to find out. I was fascinated. That brain teaser kept me busy for the full 10 minutes I had to wait in line. Then I got my corndog and was distracted with making myself fat.
Have you ever looked at a young guy (18-20 years old) and wanted to tell him if he don’t change his look he will never get laid? There was a kid sitting a few rows down from me. He was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Scooby Doo, black khaki shorts, and black sneakers with red socks. Totally. HAWT. He was jammin’ to his iPod for most of the race and kept punching his friend in the arm during what I guess must have been a drum solo. I kept waiting for his friend to punch him in the nuts. He then proceeded to play air drums for most of the second half of the race, as he downed beers and ate pork rinds (I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried). I tried to get a picture, but some dudes beer gut kept getting in the way. I wanted to go up to him, yank his earphones out and let him know he’d never get laid if he kept acting and dressing that way. He was an embarrassment to his sex. He was also an embarrassment to the Gods of Rock. Thou shalt not play air drums if thou is dressed like a geek reject.
We fly out of the Redneck Land tomorrow at 1 PM and I will be back – safely – in my home on the sandbar by 7 PM. I’m pretty sure nothing has rubbed off on me and I’ve only gained a few pounds. I will be detoxing heavily on Tuesday.
I'm also trying not to kill TH. He has gotten that new McDonald's Filet O'Fish commercial jingle stuck in his head and has been singing it for most of the weekend. He just found the song on his iPhone and has played it twice since we've been back to the hotel room. Now it's stuck in my head. If he does it again, I'm hiding his iPhone which I have now dubbed his pacifier. He spends more time on that thing than any teenage girl. It's prettty pathetic.
Speaking of fish, we saw this on a truck in the race track parking lot.
That rubber fish is suppose to be jumping out of the car window. AWESOME.
Oh, and I'm eating cheesecake with caramel sauce right now. I really time for me to go home.
Okay, not everything. But, my breakfast/lunch did consist of 2 corndogs (one was a foot long), a “Burger Q” – a pulled pork sandwich topped with coleslaw - and a banana. I know the banana stands out and I think I should get credit for trying to be healthy. I have drunk at least 12 gallons of ice tea or lemonade. It’s EVERYWHERE!
TH ate a gigantic turkey leg
I was sitting next to him, gagging as he ate it. I had already emptied my trough and the sight and smell of that enormous meat stick was totally gross. The corn dog was not tasting so good as it was traveling back up my throat in the form of a burp.
The weather today wasn’t as warm as yesterday. So, all the fashion victims and Wal-Mart shoppers were bundled up against the cold and damp weather. I was unable to get any shots of any NASCAR fashion. But, the Easter bunny was sitting a few rows down from me.
It takes a very secure man to wear a hat like that.
It was a long, slightly damp race in which none of my favorite drivers did well and a few of them tore their cars to shreds. Of course, the driver who I can’t stand won the race. It’s tragic when you fly 2 ½ hours and spend an obscene amount of money to watch the biggest douchebag in the world win a race. But, if you’re not NASCAR fans, you probably don’t care about that. You’re probably reading this thinking, “What the fuck is she babbling about and when is she going to talk about sex.
Well, lovers, there will be no hot sex tonight. As they say in the sound, "I'm as full as a tick". We ate at the Chop House again. Remember what happened there yesterday? Well, tonight’s version is a little bit tamer.
The husband decided to go big and order the same thing as last night – gigantic sirloin and mashed potatoes. I was picturing myself naked after last nights filet minion orgy, so I eased back and ordered a small salad with sliced filet on top. Still totally awesome and still brought about a small food orgasm? Shall we call it a foodasm? Anywhoo, I still ate my face off. No asparagus this time. (This morning was sooo stinky). Our waiter, Sean, was a mad man with the ice tea. I would barely take two sips from my glass when another appeared at my elbow. So, I would drink more and more would appear. It was very unnerving and kinda like being pressured. Soon, I’d drunk nearly 6 glasses – these were big bar glasses filled to the brim. We’ve been back to the hotel for an hour and I’ve peed 3 times. For once, I’m spending more time in the bathroom than TH. (He’s in there now, by the way)
Have you every looked at two people – obviously a couple – and wondered how in the world do they have sex. As I was waiting in line for another corndog, I noticed two people sitting at a picnic table having lunch. The woman looked as if she weighed at least 300 pound and was barely 5 feet tall. The guy was at least 6 feet tall and easily weighed 350-400 pounds. How do they have sex???? How is it possible??? This is something I need to find out. I was fascinated. That brain teaser kept me busy for the full 10 minutes I had to wait in line. Then I got my corndog and was distracted with making myself fat.
Have you ever looked at a young guy (18-20 years old) and wanted to tell him if he don’t change his look he will never get laid? There was a kid sitting a few rows down from me. He was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Scooby Doo, black khaki shorts, and black sneakers with red socks. Totally. HAWT. He was jammin’ to his iPod for most of the race and kept punching his friend in the arm during what I guess must have been a drum solo. I kept waiting for his friend to punch him in the nuts. He then proceeded to play air drums for most of the second half of the race, as he downed beers and ate pork rinds (I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried). I tried to get a picture, but some dudes beer gut kept getting in the way. I wanted to go up to him, yank his earphones out and let him know he’d never get laid if he kept acting and dressing that way. He was an embarrassment to his sex. He was also an embarrassment to the Gods of Rock. Thou shalt not play air drums if thou is dressed like a geek reject.
We fly out of the Redneck Land tomorrow at 1 PM and I will be back – safely – in my home on the sandbar by 7 PM. I’m pretty sure nothing has rubbed off on me and I’ve only gained a few pounds. I will be detoxing heavily on Tuesday.
I'm also trying not to kill TH. He has gotten that new McDonald's Filet O'Fish commercial jingle stuck in his head and has been singing it for most of the weekend. He just found the song on his iPhone and has played it twice since we've been back to the hotel room. Now it's stuck in my head. If he does it again, I'm hiding his iPhone which I have now dubbed his pacifier. He spends more time on that thing than any teenage girl. It's prettty pathetic.
Speaking of fish, we saw this on a truck in the race track parking lot.
That rubber fish is suppose to be jumping out of the car window. AWESOME.
Oh, and I'm eating cheesecake with caramel sauce right now. I really time for me to go home.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Bristol Day 2 - More Corndogs, A Guy in a Half Shirt and Some Swelling
As a bonafide Northern who doesn’t like to be further than 10 miles from the nearest beach, visiting Tennessee like being on another planet. The dirt is red and everyone is pulling farm equipment or a bass boat behind their car or truck. First of all, there are a lot of fucking cows here. It seems you aren’t someone until you have at least 4 in your backyard. Who cares if you only own a quarter acre of land and your house is a trailer. You need to turn your yard into a mud hole and raise some hamburger. TH is huge fan of cows and thinks they’re cool. I like to make dying “mooing” sounds when we pass by. I love to torture my husband in weird twisted ways.
It is also strange to me how the housing is set up around here. You can be driving down the road and on one side of the street is a trailer with piles of crap all around it, four rusted out cars (on blocks of course) and a few cows in the back yard. On the other side of the street is a 10,000 square foot brick palace with a seven car garage and a pool. There is no “nice side of town”. You just get some land and throw a house on it. It doesn’t matter if you neighbor is Archie Bunker.
Sunny and in the high 60’s. Exactly what you want for a race. Thankfully, the Nationwide race is later in the afternoon and the traffic isn’t horribly bad. We got to sleep this morning and recover from Friday’s day of travel.
I dressed carefully today. Yesterday I wore a new bra from Victoria’s Secret. I know I’ve whined about them before, but it was on sale. Now I know why. It was hot in the sun and I confess, I got a little sweaty. That made my bra a little damp. That made the black dye on the bra run. I nearly screamed when I got undressed in front of the enormous mirror in our bathroom and discovered the bottom half of my breasts was dark gray.
Sadly we didn’t make use of the fabulously large and luxurious bed. But we did try out the couch. Serves me right for walking around in a towel after my shower. Before I knew it, I was in the sitting room and gloriously violated. What a way to start the day.
Or maybe start it like this….
Footlong corndog. Just doesn’t get any better for breakfast. I had two.
Then I saw this guy:
Wait! He's even better standing up
Sexy, huh. It’s like all of the people in the People of Wal-Mart website have converged on one location.
Remember what I said about two-toned hair
I saw this beaut when during the practice session. Excellent. It is skunk girl.
It was one very kick ass race in which my guy DID NOT WIN because he was involved in a wreck that was not his fault. It was at this time I yelled “FUCK!” at the top of my lungs to vent my frustration. Only after uttering this chosen profanity I noticed the 6 year old boy sitting in front of me. Thankfully, nothing short of a sonic boom can be heard over the sound of the cars and he was wearing ear protection. That makes me less of an asshole.
Here are more things I learned about the South today:
-If men do not take off their shirts, they slice the sleeves off.
-None of the women here have been told the Kate Gosselin hair look is out.
-If you own cheap jewelry you should wear it all at once.
-Make up application should take at least 2 hours
-There are no coffee shops, but you can buy beer ANYWHERE.
-You can spot the people from out of town because they aren’t tan from head to toe in the middle of winter.
-Every sentence should start with “Y’all.
-You can drive 3 miles and see every fast food chain in creation.
-There is junk food down here I have never heard of.
We were in the mood for steak tonight so the lady at the hotel front desk suggested The Chopping Block. It was there I learned they will fry ANYTHING down here. Can you imagine my delight when I saw fried asparagus on the menu! FRIED!!! I love me some asparagus. The only thing I don’t love about asparagus is the after effects. You know what I’m talking about. The smell. The smells when you pee the next day or a few hours after you eat it. The smell is so nasty I can’t even describe it. You just need to go and eat a crap load of asparagus and see what I’m talking about. But, I’m on vacation. I figured I’m gonna be peeing in race track bathrooms tomorrow. I couldn’t have picked a better place
I digress….
I ordered the fried asparagus (despite the after effects) and the most succulent 9 oz cut of filet minion (Sorry Michelle, its not Meatless Monday) with a blue cheese butter on top. It was a perfect medium rare and sliced like silk. For a side dish (because I haven’t had enough fattening food today) I had creamed spinach with parmesan cheese. Totally.Awesome. The husband got a sirloin topped with grilled onion and mashed potatoes that were creamy enough to make you cry. I drank at least a gallon of ice tea. The waiter kept bringing me a new glass every 10 minutes or so. Maybe he was on to my asparagus problem.
I crammed everything in my mouth, forgetting the “It takes 20 minutes for your stomach to send the message to your brain it’s full” rule. I popped the last piece of filet in my mouth and realized I felt full. 10 minutes later, I was sweating and had started to cramp. After 15 minutes, I caved in and unbuttoned the button on my jeans. 20 minutes later, I asked for the check after ordering a piece of caramel cheesecake and a slice of key lime pie to go. What? I’ll be hungry in a couple hours.
Have you ever stood naked in front of a mirror after you’ve eaten a huge meal? It’s grotesque. After I undressed and (thankfully) noticed my breasts had turned from dark gray to a light smoky gray, I looked closely at myself in the mirror. I looked swollen. I also had an excellent farmers tan from sitting in the sun yesterday. My hair was matted down from being in a ball cap all day and my chin was starting to break out from all the junk I’ve inhaled over the last 48 hours. My husband is such a lucky man. Hot damn, I am sexy in the South.
Tomorrow is the main event and I’m looking forward to some people watching for y’all. I’ll be there for at least 9 hours so I’m sure I’ll see some lookers.
The husband has finally fallen asleep so I’m going to find the cheesecake. I’m not really hungry, but it’s in the mini fridge and it’s whispering my name. Hopefully, I’ll fit in my jeans tomorrow.
Nite, lovers! Root for the #9 car tomorrow. YeeeHAWWWWW!!!! Git ‘er done!
I shall leave you with a view of a Bristol sunset over the track.
It is also strange to me how the housing is set up around here. You can be driving down the road and on one side of the street is a trailer with piles of crap all around it, four rusted out cars (on blocks of course) and a few cows in the back yard. On the other side of the street is a 10,000 square foot brick palace with a seven car garage and a pool. There is no “nice side of town”. You just get some land and throw a house on it. It doesn’t matter if you neighbor is Archie Bunker.
Sunny and in the high 60’s. Exactly what you want for a race. Thankfully, the Nationwide race is later in the afternoon and the traffic isn’t horribly bad. We got to sleep this morning and recover from Friday’s day of travel.
I dressed carefully today. Yesterday I wore a new bra from Victoria’s Secret. I know I’ve whined about them before, but it was on sale. Now I know why. It was hot in the sun and I confess, I got a little sweaty. That made my bra a little damp. That made the black dye on the bra run. I nearly screamed when I got undressed in front of the enormous mirror in our bathroom and discovered the bottom half of my breasts was dark gray.
Sadly we didn’t make use of the fabulously large and luxurious bed. But we did try out the couch. Serves me right for walking around in a towel after my shower. Before I knew it, I was in the sitting room and gloriously violated. What a way to start the day.
Or maybe start it like this….
Footlong corndog. Just doesn’t get any better for breakfast. I had two.
Then I saw this guy:
Wait! He's even better standing up
Sexy, huh. It’s like all of the people in the People of Wal-Mart website have converged on one location.
Remember what I said about two-toned hair
I saw this beaut when during the practice session. Excellent. It is skunk girl.
It was one very kick ass race in which my guy DID NOT WIN because he was involved in a wreck that was not his fault. It was at this time I yelled “FUCK!” at the top of my lungs to vent my frustration. Only after uttering this chosen profanity I noticed the 6 year old boy sitting in front of me. Thankfully, nothing short of a sonic boom can be heard over the sound of the cars and he was wearing ear protection. That makes me less of an asshole.
Here are more things I learned about the South today:
-If men do not take off their shirts, they slice the sleeves off.
-None of the women here have been told the Kate Gosselin hair look is out.
-If you own cheap jewelry you should wear it all at once.
-Make up application should take at least 2 hours
-There are no coffee shops, but you can buy beer ANYWHERE.
-You can spot the people from out of town because they aren’t tan from head to toe in the middle of winter.
-Every sentence should start with “Y’all.
-You can drive 3 miles and see every fast food chain in creation.
-There is junk food down here I have never heard of.
We were in the mood for steak tonight so the lady at the hotel front desk suggested The Chopping Block. It was there I learned they will fry ANYTHING down here. Can you imagine my delight when I saw fried asparagus on the menu! FRIED!!! I love me some asparagus. The only thing I don’t love about asparagus is the after effects. You know what I’m talking about. The smell. The smells when you pee the next day or a few hours after you eat it. The smell is so nasty I can’t even describe it. You just need to go and eat a crap load of asparagus and see what I’m talking about. But, I’m on vacation. I figured I’m gonna be peeing in race track bathrooms tomorrow. I couldn’t have picked a better place
I digress….
I ordered the fried asparagus (despite the after effects) and the most succulent 9 oz cut of filet minion (Sorry Michelle, its not Meatless Monday) with a blue cheese butter on top. It was a perfect medium rare and sliced like silk. For a side dish (because I haven’t had enough fattening food today) I had creamed spinach with parmesan cheese. Totally.Awesome. The husband got a sirloin topped with grilled onion and mashed potatoes that were creamy enough to make you cry. I drank at least a gallon of ice tea. The waiter kept bringing me a new glass every 10 minutes or so. Maybe he was on to my asparagus problem.
I crammed everything in my mouth, forgetting the “It takes 20 minutes for your stomach to send the message to your brain it’s full” rule. I popped the last piece of filet in my mouth and realized I felt full. 10 minutes later, I was sweating and had started to cramp. After 15 minutes, I caved in and unbuttoned the button on my jeans. 20 minutes later, I asked for the check after ordering a piece of caramel cheesecake and a slice of key lime pie to go. What? I’ll be hungry in a couple hours.
Have you ever stood naked in front of a mirror after you’ve eaten a huge meal? It’s grotesque. After I undressed and (thankfully) noticed my breasts had turned from dark gray to a light smoky gray, I looked closely at myself in the mirror. I looked swollen. I also had an excellent farmers tan from sitting in the sun yesterday. My hair was matted down from being in a ball cap all day and my chin was starting to break out from all the junk I’ve inhaled over the last 48 hours. My husband is such a lucky man. Hot damn, I am sexy in the South.
Tomorrow is the main event and I’m looking forward to some people watching for y’all. I’ll be there for at least 9 hours so I’m sure I’ll see some lookers.
The husband has finally fallen asleep so I’m going to find the cheesecake. I’m not really hungry, but it’s in the mini fridge and it’s whispering my name. Hopefully, I’ll fit in my jeans tomorrow.
Nite, lovers! Root for the #9 car tomorrow. YeeeHAWWWWW!!!! Git ‘er done!
I shall leave you with a view of a Bristol sunset over the track.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Bristol Day 1 - Snot, Shirtless Dudes & Redneck Pool
Waking up at 4:00 AM does not make me a cheery traveling buddy. Other than the occasional grunt and shrill scolding of, "Stop asking me so many questions, I'm not awake yet and I don’t know what you should pack", I am a deaf mute until I can get at least a large coffee moving through my system. Even that does not guarantee I will be Mary Fucking Sunshine. I do not like to get up early and I do not like to travel.
I hate flying. I hate the people who carry on a suitcase 2 time bigger than what’s allowed so they take twice as long jamming it in to the already over crowded overhead bins. I hate the fact I always end up sitting next to someone weird. I thought I almost avoided the curse this time when a delicious looking Irish guy sat down next to me. (TH was already deep into his iPod. I could have been making out with the Irish guy and he wouldn’t have noticed) Irish guy and I had a small exchange regarding the load of assholes we were flying with and then settled down to our in flight distractions. I was 4 pages into “The Rule of Four”, a book I’d been dying to read, when I heard a wet “snuffing” sound. I looked over and Irish guy was dabbing his nose while sniffing. AWESOME. Not only was I going to have to listen to him honk, snort, and make nasty wet nasal sounds for a 2 hour flight, I now have to worry if he’s carrying some sort of plague. Halfway through the flight, he had used up his tissue and replaced that with his sleeve. MORE AWESOME. I was so grossed out, I reached into my carry on, grabbed a wad of Starbucks napkins and dropped them on his tray table. He grinned at me sheepishly and said in his no longer delicious Irish accent “Thanks. I got more in me pocket, but I didn’t want to get up” STILL AWESOME.
Other than snot boy, the flight was uneventful and included all the usual suspects. We had the token screaming kid, the young guy who kept going the bathroom and the woman who pukes the whole flight. I only had to elbow TH once for snoring (he falls asleep within 5 minutes of listening to his iPod) and as far as I know, I don’t have the plague.
We arrived at Bristol in time to watch practice and qualifying. Unfortunately, I forgot my camera in the car. Don’t blame me. I got up at 4 AM. Would you have remembered your camera? I will have by camera tomorrow to record some precious moments I witnessed today.
Here are a few things I have noticed this year:
Two tone hair is back – I saw a half dozen girls with blond hair and a layer of black underneath. It’s a bizarre skunk looking hairdo. I asked TH what he thought. He wouldn’t even dignify that question with an answer.
Southern men like to be shirtless – It was a beautiful day in the high 60’s. Unfortunately, all the men I would like to be shirtless keep their shirts on. It was almost like there was a rule: You may only take your shirt off if you are fat and hair, with large man breasts and a gut that hangs over the waist band of your jeans. I looked for a sign that said this was we were leaving the track. It seems it is what's sexy down here.
Everyone is married – No wonder I felt suicidal when I came here all the years I was dying for TH to propose. It is amazing.
Men will wear tshirts with just about anything printed on them and aren’t embarrassed – As soon as I walked in to the track I saw a guy wearing a shirt that said “I was Fucking Stupid. But then I dumped her”. Classy stuff. Still doesn’t beat the one I saw a few years ago “Ass. The Other Vagina”.
If you are a woman and you are wearing tight pants, you may not wear a thong – Panty lines here can be seen from space. You heard it here first.
Unlike last year, I haven’t gorged myself on corndogs, cinnamon rolls or donuts…..yet. I’m trying to be good. Upon my trip home last year, my body was so polluted with preservatives, refined sugar and unpronounable chemicals that I had to detox for a week. So, the corndog count stands at one……one foot-long corndog.
Unlike last year, we didn’t get stuck staying in a bug infested, totally narly, dirty feet smelling hotel room at the Super 8. This year, TH got his act together early and booked us a sweet room at a Hampton Inn (that’s the equivalent to the Ritz down here). Check out this bed:
You know it’s gonna see some action tonight.
Our room is a small suite with a flat screen, a sitting area, galley kitchen and a JACUZZI!!! I’m feeling very Paris Hilton right now as I loung in the sitting area, typing on my lap top with my feet on the coffee table. TH is testing out the facilities. He’s been in there for ½ hour. I’m guessing it’s passed the mustard.
BBQ was on the agenda for dinner.
I totally alienated everyone in the joint by talking a picture of our dinners. What do I care? I’m on vacation, bitch! Ribs, pulled pork, pulled chicken, baked beans, creamy slaw, mac n’cheese and cornbread. We had these cornflake batter onion rings for an appetizer and banana pudding for dessert. The joint was called The Bone Fire Smokehouse. Afterwards we walked next door to The Bus Pit. I’m not making this up. This bar is located in an old bus garage and the bar is actually a bus. It’s got pool tables – of course – but the real attraction is the way they store the pool cues.
Just some cement with PCV pipes. More awesomeness I can’t make up.
Tomorrow we’re up early to watch practice and the Nationwide Race at 2:30. I will have the camera and I will be ready.
I hate flying. I hate the people who carry on a suitcase 2 time bigger than what’s allowed so they take twice as long jamming it in to the already over crowded overhead bins. I hate the fact I always end up sitting next to someone weird. I thought I almost avoided the curse this time when a delicious looking Irish guy sat down next to me. (TH was already deep into his iPod. I could have been making out with the Irish guy and he wouldn’t have noticed) Irish guy and I had a small exchange regarding the load of assholes we were flying with and then settled down to our in flight distractions. I was 4 pages into “The Rule of Four”, a book I’d been dying to read, when I heard a wet “snuffing” sound. I looked over and Irish guy was dabbing his nose while sniffing. AWESOME. Not only was I going to have to listen to him honk, snort, and make nasty wet nasal sounds for a 2 hour flight, I now have to worry if he’s carrying some sort of plague. Halfway through the flight, he had used up his tissue and replaced that with his sleeve. MORE AWESOME. I was so grossed out, I reached into my carry on, grabbed a wad of Starbucks napkins and dropped them on his tray table. He grinned at me sheepishly and said in his no longer delicious Irish accent “Thanks. I got more in me pocket, but I didn’t want to get up” STILL AWESOME.
Other than snot boy, the flight was uneventful and included all the usual suspects. We had the token screaming kid, the young guy who kept going the bathroom and the woman who pukes the whole flight. I only had to elbow TH once for snoring (he falls asleep within 5 minutes of listening to his iPod) and as far as I know, I don’t have the plague.
We arrived at Bristol in time to watch practice and qualifying. Unfortunately, I forgot my camera in the car. Don’t blame me. I got up at 4 AM. Would you have remembered your camera? I will have by camera tomorrow to record some precious moments I witnessed today.
Here are a few things I have noticed this year:
Two tone hair is back – I saw a half dozen girls with blond hair and a layer of black underneath. It’s a bizarre skunk looking hairdo. I asked TH what he thought. He wouldn’t even dignify that question with an answer.
Southern men like to be shirtless – It was a beautiful day in the high 60’s. Unfortunately, all the men I would like to be shirtless keep their shirts on. It was almost like there was a rule: You may only take your shirt off if you are fat and hair, with large man breasts and a gut that hangs over the waist band of your jeans. I looked for a sign that said this was we were leaving the track. It seems it is what's sexy down here.
Everyone is married – No wonder I felt suicidal when I came here all the years I was dying for TH to propose. It is amazing.
Men will wear tshirts with just about anything printed on them and aren’t embarrassed – As soon as I walked in to the track I saw a guy wearing a shirt that said “I was Fucking Stupid. But then I dumped her”. Classy stuff. Still doesn’t beat the one I saw a few years ago “Ass. The Other Vagina”.
If you are a woman and you are wearing tight pants, you may not wear a thong – Panty lines here can be seen from space. You heard it here first.
Unlike last year, I haven’t gorged myself on corndogs, cinnamon rolls or donuts…..yet. I’m trying to be good. Upon my trip home last year, my body was so polluted with preservatives, refined sugar and unpronounable chemicals that I had to detox for a week. So, the corndog count stands at one……one foot-long corndog.
Unlike last year, we didn’t get stuck staying in a bug infested, totally narly, dirty feet smelling hotel room at the Super 8. This year, TH got his act together early and booked us a sweet room at a Hampton Inn (that’s the equivalent to the Ritz down here). Check out this bed:
You know it’s gonna see some action tonight.
Our room is a small suite with a flat screen, a sitting area, galley kitchen and a JACUZZI!!! I’m feeling very Paris Hilton right now as I loung in the sitting area, typing on my lap top with my feet on the coffee table. TH is testing out the facilities. He’s been in there for ½ hour. I’m guessing it’s passed the mustard.
BBQ was on the agenda for dinner.
Just some cement with PCV pipes. More awesomeness I can’t make up.
Tomorrow we’re up early to watch practice and the Nationwide Race at 2:30. I will have the camera and I will be ready.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
A Poem and Leavin' For Redneck Country
I cannot take credit for these marvelous words, but I totally agree with it. Make sure you read all the way to the end. I'm taking the day off from blogging because it's my birthday. I am 29. Just kidding. I'm 33. Everyone has told me 33 is a good year and I will be plagued with fabulous luck. I will be spending the day eating cake and doing a little as humanly possible.
We're making our annual pilgrimage to Bristol tomorrow for the NASCAR race and I will have my computer & camera with me to record every redneck event. Expect update through-out the weekend as I indulge in corndogs, exhaust fumes, bar-b-que and cowboys driving pick up trucks! If you plan to be at the race, come find me! I will have cold beer to share.
Later Lovers!
We're making our annual pilgrimage to Bristol tomorrow for the NASCAR race and I will have my computer & camera with me to record every redneck event. Expect update through-out the weekend as I indulge in corndogs, exhaust fumes, bar-b-que and cowboys driving pick up trucks! If you plan to be at the race, come find me! I will have cold beer to share.
Later Lovers!
A WOMAN'S POEM:
Before I lay me down to sleep,
I pray for a man who's not a creep,
One who's handsome, smart and strong.
One who loves to listen long,
One who thinks before he speaks,
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.
I pray he's rich and self-employed,
And when I spend, won't be annoyed.
Pull out my chair and hold my hand.
Massage my feet and help me stand..
Oh send a king to make me queen.
A man who loves to cook and clean..
I pray this man will love no other.
And relish visits with my mother...
A MAN'S POEM:
I pray for a deaf-mute gymnast nymphomaniac with
big tits who owns a bar on a golf course,
and loves to send me fishing and drinking. This
doesn't rhyme and I don't give a shit..
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Farewell To Hell
It is with a light-heart and a joyful scream at the top of my lungs I announce I have resigned my position at Satan's Workshop. I have 3 more weeks of misery before I begin the job that was to become my destiny when I married TH. The family business. I was told asked last week to step up and take my place.
From those of you who followed me when I was over at Diamond in the Rough, you remember all of horror I have gone through in the past few years. If you’ve never read the posts on how I spend my days, click here or here. If you need to know exactly who my nemesis is, click here. Every day has been an agony filled, desperate plea for some sort of appreciation as I did everything humanly possible to make this corporation be everything it could. Most days were filled with abuse or disregard. Like the time Partner #3 told me I looked fat. Or the time one of the associates called me on a Sunday morning. There was also the time I realized I was so addicted to the drama I couldn’t function without it. The worst day was when I was finally acknowledged for my efforts and Partner #3 decided it wasn’t important enough for him to attend. I finally strapped on a pair and told him exactly what I thought of him.
To the Partners: You will miss me when I’m gone. It is sad you never realized my full potential. There is no one quite like me. It will be tough to find a girl who can do everything you ask and still have time to sexually harass her coworkers. There will be no more jokes about cream spilled on the counter in the break room and SurferDude will have no one to inform that his office reeks like farts. There will be no one to call on a Saturday afternoon when a file has gone missing or you just can’t remember the name of the guy who called 4 weeks ago with a problem on the file you can’t find. There will be no one to stay until 9 PM to work on that project you’ve known about for 3 weeks but is due tomorrow and someone has to help you finish it. There will be no one to crawl under desks and tables wearing her pencil skirt and 4 inch heels because you can’t figure out why you can’t get on the internet and someone has to check the computer wiring. The next person you hire will probably think they’re too good to climb around in the utility room to find the “music on hold” controller for the phone system because the power went out and now it needs to be reset. They probably won’t spend time after hours at Best Buy searching for a wireless system for your home or talking to the computer geeks about the best way to back up your laptop because you couldn’t possibly be connect to the main computer system. This person probably won’t remember your birthday or get you a thoughtful present you won’t remember to thank her for. She won’t make sure the toilet paper is stocked in the men’s room or get an air freshener because it is so disgusting in there. She won’t try to get your mood up when you’re stressed or ask if there is anything she can do to help when you’re frazzled. She won’t lend a sympathetic ear when you’re complaining about each other and keep all that information to herself. There will be no one to make fun of the bizarre people who walk around the office parking lot talking to themselves. There will be no one bragging about not wearing underwear or complaining she hasn’t gotten any good email porn. There also won’t be anyone to share the naughty emails she gets from her grandmother. There will be no one to boast your ego (even though its all lies and you know it) and no one to make you laugh with self deprecating humor.
In conclusion, you will miss me. Maybe not at first, but it will hit you. The mood of the office will change and no one will be there to answer my extension when you call for the 40th time in an hour. I won’t be the first smile you see in the morning and the last one at night. I'm aware no employee is indispensable, but you had a real gem in me. It’s too bad you will only see it when I’m gone.
Three weeks….until I can breathe.
From those of you who followed me when I was over at Diamond in the Rough, you remember all of horror I have gone through in the past few years. If you’ve never read the posts on how I spend my days, click here or here. If you need to know exactly who my nemesis is, click here. Every day has been an agony filled, desperate plea for some sort of appreciation as I did everything humanly possible to make this corporation be everything it could. Most days were filled with abuse or disregard. Like the time Partner #3 told me I looked fat. Or the time one of the associates called me on a Sunday morning. There was also the time I realized I was so addicted to the drama I couldn’t function without it. The worst day was when I was finally acknowledged for my efforts and Partner #3 decided it wasn’t important enough for him to attend. I finally strapped on a pair and told him exactly what I thought of him.
To the Partners: You will miss me when I’m gone. It is sad you never realized my full potential. There is no one quite like me. It will be tough to find a girl who can do everything you ask and still have time to sexually harass her coworkers. There will be no more jokes about cream spilled on the counter in the break room and SurferDude will have no one to inform that his office reeks like farts. There will be no one to call on a Saturday afternoon when a file has gone missing or you just can’t remember the name of the guy who called 4 weeks ago with a problem on the file you can’t find. There will be no one to stay until 9 PM to work on that project you’ve known about for 3 weeks but is due tomorrow and someone has to help you finish it. There will be no one to crawl under desks and tables wearing her pencil skirt and 4 inch heels because you can’t figure out why you can’t get on the internet and someone has to check the computer wiring. The next person you hire will probably think they’re too good to climb around in the utility room to find the “music on hold” controller for the phone system because the power went out and now it needs to be reset. They probably won’t spend time after hours at Best Buy searching for a wireless system for your home or talking to the computer geeks about the best way to back up your laptop because you couldn’t possibly be connect to the main computer system. This person probably won’t remember your birthday or get you a thoughtful present you won’t remember to thank her for. She won’t make sure the toilet paper is stocked in the men’s room or get an air freshener because it is so disgusting in there. She won’t try to get your mood up when you’re stressed or ask if there is anything she can do to help when you’re frazzled. She won’t lend a sympathetic ear when you’re complaining about each other and keep all that information to herself. There will be no one to make fun of the bizarre people who walk around the office parking lot talking to themselves. There will be no one bragging about not wearing underwear or complaining she hasn’t gotten any good email porn. There also won’t be anyone to share the naughty emails she gets from her grandmother. There will be no one to boast your ego (even though its all lies and you know it) and no one to make you laugh with self deprecating humor.
In conclusion, you will miss me. Maybe not at first, but it will hit you. The mood of the office will change and no one will be there to answer my extension when you call for the 40th time in an hour. I won’t be the first smile you see in the morning and the last one at night. I'm aware no employee is indispensable, but you had a real gem in me. It’s too bad you will only see it when I’m gone.
Three weeks….until I can breathe.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Up All Night, Sleep All Day
The result of a blissful lazy Sunday is lying awake at 1:00 AM Monday morning watching the glowing red numbers on your alarm clock count up to the time when you have to pry yourself out of bed and enter another work week. No matter how much I do, how much I expend myself, I can never seem to fall asleep before 2:00 AM on a Sunday. Even as I sit here in my home office, listening to the trumpeting of TH's snoring, I am wide awake. I could run a few miles, I could finish cleaning the basement, I could watch a movie - but I know in 6 hours I will awaken to the annoying bleep of my alarm clock and be totally exhausted.
The experts tell you to get 8 hours of sleep per night. I'd like to know which doctor decided this fun fact and ask him if he gets all his 8 winks. I am the most compulsive, scheduled woman I know, yet I can never manage to schedule my sleep. I know someone who drops off to sleep every night a 10 PM on the dot. He gets up at varied time through-out the week, but always manages to catch his Z's, unmediated and on schedule
Warning: Subject change
Like any red-blooded woman, I love me some beauty products. Lotions, creams, soaps - anything that smells yummy or promises unattainable results. I always emerge from the shower, steamy and dewy, to slather on any number of creams that make me smell like a stripper ready to do a 12 hour shift. I'm also a fan of body scrubs. No one ever wants to take a shower after me. There is always the remenance of salts, sugars or some other concoction I've found promising to turn my skin into silk.
Not wanting to let Martha Stewart have all the fun, I Googled up some recipes to make my own scrubs. I toyed with a honey oatmeal which left a lovely film on the floor of the shower, refusing to come off until I blasted it with some cleaning product. Tonight, I tried a homemade coffee cinnamon scrub. The smell was intoxicating and the delicious scratch of the coffee against my skin was better than any massage. I vigorously rubbed my legs, stomach, arms and shoulders, loving the tingling feeling of the cinnamon oil. The steam from the shower turned everything into a hot mess. It was wonderful.
I stepped out of the shower leaving only a small amount of grounds around the drain. Considering the disaster I made during my scrub orgy, I feel I did enough cleaning up. I spend considerable time slathering on some rich and creamy vanilla bean lotion, making sure I hit every inch of my body. Then, I ruined this romantic, sexy-feeling activity by donning a pair of faded flannel pj pants and an old cotton football jersey of TH's. My favorite lounging outfit. I felt soothed and relaxed. It was 10:30 PM and I figured I'd be sufficiently sleepy and ready for bed by 11 PM.
At 11:15 PM, I was so awake I felt like my eyelid would flip up like those scenes in a cartoon. There was a steady humming noise in my head and I was twitching and jumping as I tried to watch a movie on TV.
I am a stupid, silly girl. Whenever you get a salt rub at a professional salon, they always tell you to drink plenty of water because the scrubbing moves all the toxicants around in you system and you need to flush them out. My vigorous rubbing pushed caffeine from the coffee into my system. It was like I'd drunk 5-6 cups of coffee.
2 AM. I'm still awake. Wide awake.
The experts tell you to get 8 hours of sleep per night. I'd like to know which doctor decided this fun fact and ask him if he gets all his 8 winks. I am the most compulsive, scheduled woman I know, yet I can never manage to schedule my sleep. I know someone who drops off to sleep every night a 10 PM on the dot. He gets up at varied time through-out the week, but always manages to catch his Z's, unmediated and on schedule
Warning: Subject change
Like any red-blooded woman, I love me some beauty products. Lotions, creams, soaps - anything that smells yummy or promises unattainable results. I always emerge from the shower, steamy and dewy, to slather on any number of creams that make me smell like a stripper ready to do a 12 hour shift. I'm also a fan of body scrubs. No one ever wants to take a shower after me. There is always the remenance of salts, sugars or some other concoction I've found promising to turn my skin into silk.
Not wanting to let Martha Stewart have all the fun, I Googled up some recipes to make my own scrubs. I toyed with a honey oatmeal which left a lovely film on the floor of the shower, refusing to come off until I blasted it with some cleaning product. Tonight, I tried a homemade coffee cinnamon scrub. The smell was intoxicating and the delicious scratch of the coffee against my skin was better than any massage. I vigorously rubbed my legs, stomach, arms and shoulders, loving the tingling feeling of the cinnamon oil. The steam from the shower turned everything into a hot mess. It was wonderful.
I stepped out of the shower leaving only a small amount of grounds around the drain. Considering the disaster I made during my scrub orgy, I feel I did enough cleaning up. I spend considerable time slathering on some rich and creamy vanilla bean lotion, making sure I hit every inch of my body. Then, I ruined this romantic, sexy-feeling activity by donning a pair of faded flannel pj pants and an old cotton football jersey of TH's. My favorite lounging outfit. I felt soothed and relaxed. It was 10:30 PM and I figured I'd be sufficiently sleepy and ready for bed by 11 PM.
At 11:15 PM, I was so awake I felt like my eyelid would flip up like those scenes in a cartoon. There was a steady humming noise in my head and I was twitching and jumping as I tried to watch a movie on TV.
I am a stupid, silly girl. Whenever you get a salt rub at a professional salon, they always tell you to drink plenty of water because the scrubbing moves all the toxicants around in you system and you need to flush them out. My vigorous rubbing pushed caffeine from the coffee into my system. It was like I'd drunk 5-6 cups of coffee.
2 AM. I'm still awake. Wide awake.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
One Degree From Cake
Everyone has played the game "Six Degrees From Kevin Bacon" I can do it in 2. I use to have my nails done by a girl who did the nails of a girl who was in a movie with Kevin Bacon. I've met some famous people. No one earth shattering. I once had a conversation at a guitar show with Tom Hamilton (Aerosmith) the day after I went to his concert. And by conversation, I mean, I stood there slackjawed while the husband said hi and discussed the concert with him. I managed to burp out a word or two. But, all in all, I was my incredibly uncool self. I always thought I would act cool and calm if I ran into someone famous. If the husband hadn't been there, I probably would have asked Tom to sign my bra.
In my line of work, we deal with alot of very well known people, very wealthy people and some regional politicians. So, there is always someone who knows some guy, who knows another guy who's a rockin' big shot. Never in my wildest wet dreams did I know I was a degree away from one of my favorite crushes.
In my line of work, we deal with alot of very well known people, very wealthy people and some regional politicians. So, there is always someone who knows some guy, who knows another guy who's a rockin' big shot. Never in my wildest wet dreams did I know I was a degree away from one of my favorite crushes.
Duff! From Ace of Cakes.
I work with a guy who went to high school with him!!!
After that, I begged my secret Duff friend to give me any information he could. I got to see high school yearbook photos and hear interesting naughty little tidbits (none which I will share 'cuz I feel oh so special now. But I will give you a hint - "balls"). My secret Duff friend also has a personal email address for him and phone number. I also know he's not married and he "might" have a girl friend. I mean, why wouldn't he. He is Duff. Awesomely sexy baker dude who has a funny laugh and makes cakes for a living. Cake! With Frosting! I am one email/phone call away from the man of my dreams. A man who could cover me in homemade frosting and lick it off.
And then I remembered. I'm married.
I excitedly told the husband when I got home. "I know someone one who knows the Ace of Cakes dude!!" The husband was unimpressed. We weren't talking about a rock star or a porn star. And he wouldn't be getting any actual cake from this. He barely acknowledged my excitement with a "Yes, dear." I failed to mention the fact I was excited because I lusted after this cake God and was having tiny fantasies of him, in his bakery with a piping bag of frosting.
I excitedly told the husband when I got home. "I know someone one who knows the Ace of Cakes dude!!" The husband was unimpressed. We weren't talking about a rock star or a porn star. And he wouldn't be getting any actual cake from this. He barely acknowledged my excitement with a "Yes, dear." I failed to mention the fact I was excited because I lusted after this cake God and was having tiny fantasies of him, in his bakery with a piping bag of frosting.
Honey, we will be having cake..... with frosting for dessert tonight. You have been warned.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
The Alphabet of Me
Instead of doing a Random Tuesday, I thought I would reintroduce myself. I have loads of new readers who don't know that much about me. So, here's the dirty and not so dirty details.
The Letter A
Are you available? No. Why? Are you asking?
What is your age? Turning 33 in 9 days.
What annoys you? When people don’t say thank you, when people are closed minded, when people….damn I’ll run out of room if I continue.
The Letter B
Do you live in a big house? It’s too big for just two people but I love it. 3 bedrooms, 2 1/2 baths (one that can't be used because the husband STILL hasn’t installed a shower door.)
When is your birthday? March 18th.
Who is your best friend? Josh is my BFF. Camp Wildwood, baby! It’s never been the same since.
The Letter C
What’s your favorite candy? I love super snobby chocolate. I also love that DIP stuff.
Who’s your crush? Vin Diesel. Luscious man candy. I want him to paint me with snobby chocolate and lick it off. Slowly.
When was the last time you cried? Truthfully, I don’t remember.
The Letter D
Do you daydream? All the time. Most often it leads to masturbation. But, so doesn’t everything in my life.
What’s your favorite kind of dog? Boston Terriers. Want one!
What day of the week is it? Saturday. Everything is open and I can get everything done.
The Letter E
How do you like your eggs? In an omelet, smothered with cheese, stuffed with some sort of greasy animal product.
Have you ever been in the emergency room? Yes.
What’s the easiest thing ever to do? Lose yourself
The Letter F
Have you ever flown in a plane? Yes
Do you use fly swatters? Nope, I just grab the nearest magazine.
Have you ever used a foghorn? No, but I want to.
The Letter G
Do you chew gum? Like it’s keeping me alive. I can’t get enough
Are you a giver or a taker? Giver
Do you like gummy candies? I like to suck on them until they get all gooey in my mouth.
The Letter H
How are you? Horny…slightly craving a bagel.
What color is your hair? Dirty blond with blond highlights.
The Letter I
What’s your favorite ice cream? Oatmeal cookie by Ben N’Jerry’s
Have you ever ice skated? Yes. I suck at it.
Do you play an instrument? I played the violin. I’m also a classically trained singer
The Letter J
What’s your favorite jelly bean brand? Jelly Belly. I like to do that thing where you stuff a bunch of different flavors in your mouth to make something different.
Do you wear jewelry? I usually have my wedding rings on and earrings. I’ve made a point to try and wear more stuff. I have a shit load of funky jewelry.
The Letter K
Who do you want to kill? I’m not sure. Ask me later on. It changes daily.
Do you want kids? I don’t know.
Where did you go for kindergarten? Ezra H. Baker Elementary School
The Letter L
Are you laid back? Most of the time.
Do you lie? Occasionally if the situation calls for it. Nothing serious, though.
The Letter M
What’s your favorite movie? Under the Tuscan Sun or Gone with the Wind.
Do you still watch Disney movies? Duh. If you don’t still watch Disney movies there’s something wrong with you.
Do you like mangos? Yes. They’re just such a pain in the ass to peel. I’m usually so aggravated when I’m done, I don’t want it anymore
The Letter N
Do you have a nickname? No. I want one.
What is your real name? Pamela Anderson (obviously not, but I like to pretend)
Whats your favorite number? 7
Do you prefer night over day? No. I like the daytime.
The Letter O
What’s your one wish? To live a long, happy, healthy life with no regrets.
Were you an only child? No. 2 sisters, 3 brothers.
The Letter P
What one fear are you most paranoid about? Bridges. Hate them.
What are your pet peeves? When people don’t give you the “thank you” wave when you let them go. I think you should be allowed to hit them with your car if they don’t.
What’s a personality trait you look for in people? Honesty. I hate a liar.
The Letter Q
What’s your favorite quote? “Dwelling on the negative simply contributes to its power” – Shirley Maclaine
Are you quick to judge people? Sometimes. I’m working on it. I have a low tolerance for bullshit.
The Letter R
Do you think you’re always right? No. Far from it.
Are you one to cry? Yes. I blubber all over the place.
The Letter S
Do you prefer sun or rain? Sun
Do you like snow? I like snow if it doesn’t interfere with what I’m doing.
What’s your favorite season? Spring and Fall.
The Letter T
What time is it? 8:47 PM
What time did you wake up? 7:00ish AM
When was the last time you slept in a tent? I think 1997. I’m not a tent dweller. I need a bed and air conditioning.
The Letter U
Are you wearing underwear? No. Of course not
Underwear or boxers? Thong.
The Letter V
What’s the worst veggie? Lima bean. YUCK!! Even with load of salt and butter they taste gross.
Where do you want to go on vacation? Ireland or Italy. I love Europe.
The Letter W
What’s your worst habit? I pop my gum. So tacky
Where do you live? Cape Cod, Massachusetts
What’s your worst fear? To be alone at the end of it all.
The Letter X
Have you ever had an x-ray? Yup
Have you seen the x-games? I think I flipped by them on TV once.
Do you own a xylophone? I had one that I could pull with a string when I was a kid.
The Letter Y
Do you like the color yellow? Yes it’s happy.
What’s one thing you yearn for? Bread. I’m on a low carb diet because my husband is fat. I also yearn for Vin Diesel to give me a full body massage while naked.
The Letter Z
What’s your zodiac sign? Pisces
Do you believe in the zodiac? Totally
Favorite zoo animal? I like giraffes. They always look so chill.
I have to thank Kirsten for this cute little questionaire! Love ya, girl!
The Letter A
Are you available? No. Why? Are you asking?
What is your age? Turning 33 in 9 days.
What annoys you? When people don’t say thank you, when people are closed minded, when people….damn I’ll run out of room if I continue.
The Letter B
Do you live in a big house? It’s too big for just two people but I love it. 3 bedrooms, 2 1/2 baths (one that can't be used because the husband STILL hasn’t installed a shower door.)
When is your birthday? March 18th.
Who is your best friend? Josh is my BFF. Camp Wildwood, baby! It’s never been the same since.
The Letter C
What’s your favorite candy? I love super snobby chocolate. I also love that DIP stuff.
Who’s your crush? Vin Diesel. Luscious man candy. I want him to paint me with snobby chocolate and lick it off. Slowly.
When was the last time you cried? Truthfully, I don’t remember.
The Letter D
Do you daydream? All the time. Most often it leads to masturbation. But, so doesn’t everything in my life.
What’s your favorite kind of dog? Boston Terriers. Want one!
What day of the week is it? Saturday. Everything is open and I can get everything done.
The Letter E
How do you like your eggs? In an omelet, smothered with cheese, stuffed with some sort of greasy animal product.
Have you ever been in the emergency room? Yes.
What’s the easiest thing ever to do? Lose yourself
The Letter F
Have you ever flown in a plane? Yes
Do you use fly swatters? Nope, I just grab the nearest magazine.
Have you ever used a foghorn? No, but I want to.
The Letter G
Do you chew gum? Like it’s keeping me alive. I can’t get enough
Are you a giver or a taker? Giver
Do you like gummy candies? I like to suck on them until they get all gooey in my mouth.
The Letter H
How are you? Horny…slightly craving a bagel.
What color is your hair? Dirty blond with blond highlights.
The Letter I
What’s your favorite ice cream? Oatmeal cookie by Ben N’Jerry’s
Have you ever ice skated? Yes. I suck at it.
Do you play an instrument? I played the violin. I’m also a classically trained singer
The Letter J
What’s your favorite jelly bean brand? Jelly Belly. I like to do that thing where you stuff a bunch of different flavors in your mouth to make something different.
Do you wear jewelry? I usually have my wedding rings on and earrings. I’ve made a point to try and wear more stuff. I have a shit load of funky jewelry.
The Letter K
Who do you want to kill? I’m not sure. Ask me later on. It changes daily.
Do you want kids? I don’t know.
Where did you go for kindergarten? Ezra H. Baker Elementary School
The Letter L
Are you laid back? Most of the time.
Do you lie? Occasionally if the situation calls for it. Nothing serious, though.
The Letter M
What’s your favorite movie? Under the Tuscan Sun or Gone with the Wind.
Do you still watch Disney movies? Duh. If you don’t still watch Disney movies there’s something wrong with you.
Do you like mangos? Yes. They’re just such a pain in the ass to peel. I’m usually so aggravated when I’m done, I don’t want it anymore
The Letter N
Do you have a nickname? No. I want one.
What is your real name? Pamela Anderson (obviously not, but I like to pretend)
Whats your favorite number? 7
Do you prefer night over day? No. I like the daytime.
The Letter O
What’s your one wish? To live a long, happy, healthy life with no regrets.
Were you an only child? No. 2 sisters, 3 brothers.
The Letter P
What one fear are you most paranoid about? Bridges. Hate them.
What are your pet peeves? When people don’t give you the “thank you” wave when you let them go. I think you should be allowed to hit them with your car if they don’t.
What’s a personality trait you look for in people? Honesty. I hate a liar.
The Letter Q
What’s your favorite quote? “Dwelling on the negative simply contributes to its power” – Shirley Maclaine
Are you quick to judge people? Sometimes. I’m working on it. I have a low tolerance for bullshit.
The Letter R
Do you think you’re always right? No. Far from it.
Are you one to cry? Yes. I blubber all over the place.
The Letter S
Do you prefer sun or rain? Sun
Do you like snow? I like snow if it doesn’t interfere with what I’m doing.
What’s your favorite season? Spring and Fall.
The Letter T
What time is it? 8:47 PM
What time did you wake up? 7:00ish AM
When was the last time you slept in a tent? I think 1997. I’m not a tent dweller. I need a bed and air conditioning.
The Letter U
Are you wearing underwear? No. Of course not
Underwear or boxers? Thong.
The Letter V
What’s the worst veggie? Lima bean. YUCK!! Even with load of salt and butter they taste gross.
Where do you want to go on vacation? Ireland or Italy. I love Europe.
The Letter W
What’s your worst habit? I pop my gum. So tacky
Where do you live? Cape Cod, Massachusetts
What’s your worst fear? To be alone at the end of it all.
The Letter X
Have you ever had an x-ray? Yup
Have you seen the x-games? I think I flipped by them on TV once.
Do you own a xylophone? I had one that I could pull with a string when I was a kid.
The Letter Y
Do you like the color yellow? Yes it’s happy.
What’s one thing you yearn for? Bread. I’m on a low carb diet because my husband is fat. I also yearn for Vin Diesel to give me a full body massage while naked.
The Letter Z
What’s your zodiac sign? Pisces
Do you believe in the zodiac? Totally
Favorite zoo animal? I like giraffes. They always look so chill.
I have to thank Kirsten for this cute little questionaire! Love ya, girl!
Monday, March 8, 2010
International Chick Day
Today is International Women's Day. According to the website, "It is a major day of global celebration of women. In different regions the focus of the celebrations ranges from general celebration of respect, appreciation and love towards women to a celebration for women's economic, political and social achievements." Some places even gave people the day off from work. Apparently I missed that memo last week. So, here I am. Sitting in my cell while all the other people enjoy this 50 degree day.
I am a horrible traitor to my sex. Even though I am passed over day after month after year because I have a vagina, it still irks me when women get themselves all up in a tizzy due to gender equality. Ladies, you must chill. Walking around screaming is not gonna convince the men folk they should let us play ball. We are immediately labeled "psycho chicks" by the penis brigade and it starts all over again.
So, I propose this. Instead of going all mental and proclaiming all men suck and women should be allowed the same rights as men while marching down the street, waving signs and burning your bras, why don't you try a more stealthy tactic. How do you get your man to do what you want? (I don't mean withhold sex) That's right, you trick him. I do it around the office all the time and it works like a charm. Sneaky tactics, ladies. You have to think like a guy, to play with the big boys.
In celebrations of Chick Day, I give you some of my favorite gals:
Jenna Jameson: Fabulous porn star, super successful, total babe.
Rachel Maddow: Talk show host. Screamingly funny and brilliant as all can be. Makes new/politics easy for me to digest.
Meryl Streep - Didn't win the Oscar, but the best damn actress out there.
Madonna - Total psycho, but in a good way. Inspired me to be naked and tell people to go fuck themselves if they thought I was different because I like sex.
Paula Dean - Made butter and bacon fat fashionable again. Love her!
Kate Winslet - Got mad at magazines for airbrushing her flaws and curves. You go girl!
RuPaul - Because I'm convinced he's a woman with a penis. Work it!
My Mom - because she continues to be horrified by my behavior and blog, but loves me anyway.
My Grandmother - because she claims she is horrified by my behavior and blog, but secretly reads it.
Sarah Holl - Fabulous artist friend who paints me naked and makes me feel beautiful.
There are many others, who I have failed to mention, but I stayed up and watched the Oscars last night and my brain is working on fumes.
Gentlemen, make sure you give your lady some love to night. Ladies, give your ladies some love tonight. I mean, oral, dammit. Get down on you knees and do it.
I am a horrible traitor to my sex. Even though I am passed over day after month after year because I have a vagina, it still irks me when women get themselves all up in a tizzy due to gender equality. Ladies, you must chill. Walking around screaming is not gonna convince the men folk they should let us play ball. We are immediately labeled "psycho chicks" by the penis brigade and it starts all over again.
So, I propose this. Instead of going all mental and proclaiming all men suck and women should be allowed the same rights as men while marching down the street, waving signs and burning your bras, why don't you try a more stealthy tactic. How do you get your man to do what you want? (I don't mean withhold sex) That's right, you trick him. I do it around the office all the time and it works like a charm. Sneaky tactics, ladies. You have to think like a guy, to play with the big boys.
In celebrations of Chick Day, I give you some of my favorite gals:
Jenna Jameson: Fabulous porn star, super successful, total babe.
Rachel Maddow: Talk show host. Screamingly funny and brilliant as all can be. Makes new/politics easy for me to digest.
Meryl Streep - Didn't win the Oscar, but the best damn actress out there.
Madonna - Total psycho, but in a good way. Inspired me to be naked and tell people to go fuck themselves if they thought I was different because I like sex.
Paula Dean - Made butter and bacon fat fashionable again. Love her!
Kate Winslet - Got mad at magazines for airbrushing her flaws and curves. You go girl!
RuPaul - Because I'm convinced he's a woman with a penis. Work it!
My Mom - because she continues to be horrified by my behavior and blog, but loves me anyway.
My Grandmother - because she claims she is horrified by my behavior and blog, but secretly reads it.
Sarah Holl - Fabulous artist friend who paints me naked and makes me feel beautiful.
There are many others, who I have failed to mention, but I stayed up and watched the Oscars last night and my brain is working on fumes.
Gentlemen, make sure you give your lady some love to night. Ladies, give your ladies some love tonight. I mean, oral, dammit. Get down on you knees and do it.
Friday, March 5, 2010
A "Daily" Reminder That Food Can Fresh and Fabulous
Like many of you who are cogs in the wheel of industry during the day, I bring my lunch. But, some days the same old turkey sandwich and yogurt just will not do. The desperate need to leave your paper strewn office - for sanity sake – and eat something fresh, delicious and, of course, utterly sinful.
The Daily Paper, located on West Main Street in Hyannis is my holy grail of breakfast/lunch eateries. The impossible task of finding an establishment that serves good, fresh food AND supports the local farmers ends once you walk in the door. Husband and wife team, Aaron and Samantha Webb have created a local hotspot with local flare and local flavor serving Beanstock Roasters coffee from Wellfleet, Cape Cod Beer from Hyannis and loads of fresh vegetables from Cape Abilities farm and others.
Samantha is a vision of calm and cool during the hectic business hours. There may be a crowd of 25 waiting to be seated and she greets everyone with a beaming smile as she glides gracefully through the sea of tables, making sure everyone is happy. Her sharp eyes spot a toddler who has dropped his toy or an elderly patron who may need a more manageable seat than a bar stool. No matter the chaos, she still finds time to stop at the table of each “regular” and say hello.
Aaron uses his genius in the kitchen to create a breakfast and lunch menu, pairing the simplest of ingredients into stunning creations of culinary excellence. A former chef of many of the Capes finest restaurants, his skill could match or exceed the best of the best. His Sunday omelet specials show his desire to break the barriers of traditional breakfast cuisine and bring our taste buds to the next level.
The lunch menu features a favorite of mine – the BLT. Not wanting to follow the habitual “plain white toast”, the Daily Paper offers their BLT on a giant English muffin. Loaded with crisp bacon (my last sandwich had at least 7 pieces), mayo, vine ripened tomato, and crunchy romaine. Some day, I dare to be different and have them add a few slices of avocado. Still not wanting to be the norm, the Paper offers not one, not two but four sides – fries, pasta salad, chips or coleslaw. I am the #1 fan of the pasta salad. After months of experimenting, I have finally figured out the recipe which I refuse to share with anyone, yet I still get it when I order my lunch. The daily selection of soup specials is not to be missed. Aaron’s creative flare is shown in soups such as corn and sweet potato bisque and a sausage and lentil that I’m still trying to figure out the recipe. I often sit at my table, sampling and writing down the ingredients, hoping I can duplicate the dish at home. Other fabulous offerings include a to die for Reuben, a Grilled Meat loaf Baguette, and a Bacon and Blue cheese Burger.
Breakfast is an event at the Daily Paper that I experience every weekend. My husband orders the exact same thing EVERY week in his insistence he “hates anything with eggs”. He loves the Belgian Waffle plain, even though it can be served topped with luscious fresh fruit and cream.
I, on the other hand, take advantage of the genius behind the grill. I’ve sampled his breakfast burrito special, loaded with farm fresh eggs, black beans, cilantro, cheese grilled shrimp and chorizo. Served with a side of guacamole and sour cream, this burrito must be eaten with a fork and knife. Perfectly spiced home fries nestle up to the side of the monstrous tortilla wrapped prize. Omelets will be filled with anything and everything. But don’t forget to check out the specials board. There you will find the not so ordinary. The lobster, boursin and asparagus omelet is still on my list to try.
Above it all, my favorite breakfast treat is Aarons hash. Freshly made corn beef or his hash of the day – sweet potato and bacon (my favorite), sirloin, or other creations that promise an explosion of flavor.
If you cannot visit the “Paper” (local speak), Daily, then you must do so weekly. Here at Utterly Sinful, we give it nine raised glasses out of ten. If you see us there this Sunday, please stop over and say hi. But, don’t expect us to share.
The Daily Paper, located on West Main Street in Hyannis is my holy grail of breakfast/lunch eateries. The impossible task of finding an establishment that serves good, fresh food AND supports the local farmers ends once you walk in the door. Husband and wife team, Aaron and Samantha Webb have created a local hotspot with local flare and local flavor serving Beanstock Roasters coffee from Wellfleet, Cape Cod Beer from Hyannis and loads of fresh vegetables from Cape Abilities farm and others.
Samantha is a vision of calm and cool during the hectic business hours. There may be a crowd of 25 waiting to be seated and she greets everyone with a beaming smile as she glides gracefully through the sea of tables, making sure everyone is happy. Her sharp eyes spot a toddler who has dropped his toy or an elderly patron who may need a more manageable seat than a bar stool. No matter the chaos, she still finds time to stop at the table of each “regular” and say hello.
Aaron uses his genius in the kitchen to create a breakfast and lunch menu, pairing the simplest of ingredients into stunning creations of culinary excellence. A former chef of many of the Capes finest restaurants, his skill could match or exceed the best of the best. His Sunday omelet specials show his desire to break the barriers of traditional breakfast cuisine and bring our taste buds to the next level.
The lunch menu features a favorite of mine – the BLT. Not wanting to follow the habitual “plain white toast”, the Daily Paper offers their BLT on a giant English muffin. Loaded with crisp bacon (my last sandwich had at least 7 pieces), mayo, vine ripened tomato, and crunchy romaine. Some day, I dare to be different and have them add a few slices of avocado. Still not wanting to be the norm, the Paper offers not one, not two but four sides – fries, pasta salad, chips or coleslaw. I am the #1 fan of the pasta salad. After months of experimenting, I have finally figured out the recipe which I refuse to share with anyone, yet I still get it when I order my lunch. The daily selection of soup specials is not to be missed. Aaron’s creative flare is shown in soups such as corn and sweet potato bisque and a sausage and lentil that I’m still trying to figure out the recipe. I often sit at my table, sampling and writing down the ingredients, hoping I can duplicate the dish at home. Other fabulous offerings include a to die for Reuben, a Grilled Meat loaf Baguette, and a Bacon and Blue cheese Burger.
Breakfast is an event at the Daily Paper that I experience every weekend. My husband orders the exact same thing EVERY week in his insistence he “hates anything with eggs”. He loves the Belgian Waffle plain, even though it can be served topped with luscious fresh fruit and cream.
I, on the other hand, take advantage of the genius behind the grill. I’ve sampled his breakfast burrito special, loaded with farm fresh eggs, black beans, cilantro, cheese grilled shrimp and chorizo. Served with a side of guacamole and sour cream, this burrito must be eaten with a fork and knife. Perfectly spiced home fries nestle up to the side of the monstrous tortilla wrapped prize. Omelets will be filled with anything and everything. But don’t forget to check out the specials board. There you will find the not so ordinary. The lobster, boursin and asparagus omelet is still on my list to try.
Above it all, my favorite breakfast treat is Aarons hash. Freshly made corn beef or his hash of the day – sweet potato and bacon (my favorite), sirloin, or other creations that promise an explosion of flavor.
If you cannot visit the “Paper” (local speak), Daily, then you must do so weekly. Here at Utterly Sinful, we give it nine raised glasses out of ten. If you see us there this Sunday, please stop over and say hi. But, don’t expect us to share.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
I'm A Crotch Watcher
"The angle of the dangle is equally proportional to the heat of the meat provided that the urge to surge remains constant."
I don't know who uttered this insanely awesome phrase, but I shall keep it close to my heart always.
Um, Excuse me Mr. Mcconaughey. Your doodle is protruding.
During my daily cruise of http://www.eonline.com/ I spotted this picture of MM. Usually, he has his shirt off and I'm distracted by his fabulous bod, bizzare man nipples and the fact he runs with a different dog everyday. But, unable to gaze upon his washboard abs, I spotted his schlong at full mast. If it is not standing at attention and is instead hanging at ease, then DAMN. How come no one else noticed this?
I don't know who uttered this insanely awesome phrase, but I shall keep it close to my heart always.
Um, Excuse me Mr. Mcconaughey. Your doodle is protruding.
During my daily cruise of http://www.eonline.com/ I spotted this picture of MM. Usually, he has his shirt off and I'm distracted by his fabulous bod, bizzare man nipples and the fact he runs with a different dog everyday. But, unable to gaze upon his washboard abs, I spotted his schlong at full mast. If it is not standing at attention and is instead hanging at ease, then DAMN. How come no one else noticed this?
I will admit to you all that I am a crotch gazer. Just as guys let their eyes roam from bust to legs, I stick to the part that is at eye level - when I'm sitting at my desk. Those who enter my office, beware. Any man who is 5'7" or taller has a crotch directly in my line of sight. I am not ashamed. A client may come into my office for a meeting, I'll do a quick peek at the package and he sits down. Then, as soon as I tip back in my chair, he's staring at my legs. Remember this guy? He's still confused.
I will admit I wonder about size, shape, girth, stamina and readiness. It is only natural. I'm not curious about every penis that crosses my threshold. But, I stare at a few.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Will Sell Husband For Two Loaves Of Bread & A Bagel
We have gone nearly carb free in our household. After TH went was forced to the doctor for physical because I got so annoyed with his slovenly behavior and became fearful he may have a heart attack at any moment so I called to make an appointment for him it was that time of year. Sure enough, he needs to lose 50 a few pounds. After gracefully doing the "I told you so" dance around the kitchen floor, I paused during a pirouette and asked how the doctor planned for him to lose weight. "Lower my carb intake" he said.
Damn.
Those who are married, engaged or in a dedicated relationship with someone knows what happens next.
Um...yeah...I've got to go carb free too.
No punishment is more cruel than stuffing your pie hole with pasta while your beloved is choking down brown rice (I know it's not carb free - baby steps, people). I couldn't continue my macaroni loving ways while TH was struggling with salad.
I won't pretend that I'm perfect. The winter weather and my inability to pry my ass out of bed on a dark and frozen morning to run, may have allowed a few pounds to adhear to my frame. Thankfully, the weather man has promised a few days in the 50's right after we get a nasty wet snowstorm threatening to dump 4-5 inches on us overnight. Yes, here in New England we like to have a temperature swing of 40 degrees. Freezing one day, sunny and warm the next. Come move here and join us in the challenge of dressing each day. But, I digress.
We have eliminated the pasta (we've gone to wheat pasta, but please don't tell the doctor) and bake potatoes. There are minimal snacking options in the cabinet and TH is no longer allowed to make everything into a sandwich for dinner. The man is Joey from "Friends." He will make a sandwich out of mac n'cheese if I don't watch him.
But, the greatest tragedy in this whole diet messwhich is totally TH's fault and I'm blaming him for my pain is the lack of bread. I LOVE bread. Crispy baguettes, dinner rolls and crusty french bread. If not stopped, I will make love to a ciabatta loaf and a bottle of olive oil. Kinky, but it's my thing. Carbs fill my life.
I also love sweet bread. Lemon poppyseed bread, slightly warmed with sweet cream butter is delicious enough to make me forget sex for a moment or two. Banana bread is another fav. I searched years for a decent banana bread recipe. Then, quite by surprise, I was looking through an old computer and found a file containing this recipe. You always think you're going to find porn (and usually do) when cleaning out a former employees computer. Instead, I found the best recipe for banana bread.
Enjoy, lovers. Just because I'm suffering, doesn't mean you have to!
Banana Bread
Makes (2) 7x3 inch loaves or 1 bundt cake
Ingredients:
1 cup mashed bananas (3 overripe bananas)
1 cup sour cream
½ cup butter
1 1/3 cups white sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
2 cups all purpose flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
½ tsp salt
Optional: 1 cup fresh or frozen blueberries
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour pan(s)
Combine banana and sour cream. In a separate bowl cream butter and sugar. Add vanilla. Add 1 egg at a time and beat well. Mix together flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Add to butter mixture until just combined. Blend in banana mixture. Gently fold in blueberries. Spread batter into prepared pan(s)
Bake for 50 minutes or until bread tests done. (1 ½ hour in metal pans.)
Damn.
Those who are married, engaged or in a dedicated relationship with someone knows what happens next.
Um...yeah...I've got to go carb free too.
No punishment is more cruel than stuffing your pie hole with pasta while your beloved is choking down brown rice (I know it's not carb free - baby steps, people). I couldn't continue my macaroni loving ways while TH was struggling with salad.
I won't pretend that I'm perfect. The winter weather and my inability to pry my ass out of bed on a dark and frozen morning to run, may have allowed a few pounds to adhear to my frame. Thankfully, the weather man has promised a few days in the 50's right after we get a nasty wet snowstorm threatening to dump 4-5 inches on us overnight. Yes, here in New England we like to have a temperature swing of 40 degrees. Freezing one day, sunny and warm the next. Come move here and join us in the challenge of dressing each day. But, I digress.
We have eliminated the pasta (we've gone to wheat pasta, but please don't tell the doctor) and bake potatoes. There are minimal snacking options in the cabinet and TH is no longer allowed to make everything into a sandwich for dinner. The man is Joey from "Friends." He will make a sandwich out of mac n'cheese if I don't watch him.
But, the greatest tragedy in this whole diet mess
I also love sweet bread. Lemon poppyseed bread, slightly warmed with sweet cream butter is delicious enough to make me forget sex for a moment or two. Banana bread is another fav. I searched years for a decent banana bread recipe. Then, quite by surprise, I was looking through an old computer and found a file containing this recipe. You always think you're going to find porn (and usually do) when cleaning out a former employees computer. Instead, I found the best recipe for banana bread.
Enjoy, lovers. Just because I'm suffering, doesn't mean you have to!
Banana Bread
Makes (2) 7x3 inch loaves or 1 bundt cake
Ingredients:
1 cup mashed bananas (3 overripe bananas)
1 cup sour cream
½ cup butter
1 1/3 cups white sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
2 cups all purpose flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
½ tsp salt
Optional: 1 cup fresh or frozen blueberries
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour pan(s)
Combine banana and sour cream. In a separate bowl cream butter and sugar. Add vanilla. Add 1 egg at a time and beat well. Mix together flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Add to butter mixture until just combined. Blend in banana mixture. Gently fold in blueberries. Spread batter into prepared pan(s)
Bake for 50 minutes or until bread tests done. (1 ½ hour in metal pans.)
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Random Tuesday - Thanks a Heap
Thank you to LB and his wife who have been "pimpin'" my blog on Facebook. The naughtiness of that has me in near swoon.
Thank you to Random Guy From Upper Cape for your thoughtful suggestions on woodpecker food to rid my home of the Morning Wood. It really is a toss up - get rid of woodpecker or continue to watch my husband dance around naked with a just a heavy metal t-shirt and work boots. Tough decision.
Thank you to MT_2009 (aka Mr. Kitty) for your thoughtful and witty emails. As promised, if anyone of the Bad Girls become single and serves a terrible sirloin steak, I will send them your way. (This inside joke is my comment to him that if you are served a poorly cooked sirloin steak at a restaurant and you had paid $30 for it, you should get a blow job complete with swallowing. See what happens when you email me fan letters?)
Thank you Evgeni Plushenko for showing me how a true douchebag acts. So you didn't win the gold. Maybe next time you'll skate without a grouchy stick shoved up your ass.
Thank you Shaved Head Guy In Yoga Class. For some reason, you have decided to move from the way way back of the room to the front row - right.next.to.me. You're not a super sexy guy, but the smell of your cologne, combined with your carnal sounding grunts and glimpses of your muscular thighs had me struggling in my downward dog. Not only did I cleanse my mind in that class, I added some new material to the spank bank. Please....Please....PLEASE say in the back row next class.
Thank you to everyone who has followed me from Diamond in The Rough. It's been a tough transition, but I'm muddling through it.
Thank you Olympics for FINALLY being over. I haven't been to sleep before midnight in the last 2 weeks. Why didn't someone tell me I'd be straining to stay awake to watch men in spandex outfits?
That's a wrap, lovers. Make sure you find me on Facebook. Not only do you get my blog everyday, I send love and naughtiness through-out the day.
Thank you to Random Guy From Upper Cape for your thoughtful suggestions on woodpecker food to rid my home of the Morning Wood. It really is a toss up - get rid of woodpecker or continue to watch my husband dance around naked with a just a heavy metal t-shirt and work boots. Tough decision.
Thank you to MT_2009 (aka Mr. Kitty) for your thoughtful and witty emails. As promised, if anyone of the Bad Girls become single and serves a terrible sirloin steak, I will send them your way. (This inside joke is my comment to him that if you are served a poorly cooked sirloin steak at a restaurant and you had paid $30 for it, you should get a blow job complete with swallowing. See what happens when you email me fan letters?)
Thank you Evgeni Plushenko for showing me how a true douchebag acts. So you didn't win the gold. Maybe next time you'll skate without a grouchy stick shoved up your ass.
Thank you Shaved Head Guy In Yoga Class. For some reason, you have decided to move from the way way back of the room to the front row - right.next.to.me. You're not a super sexy guy, but the smell of your cologne, combined with your carnal sounding grunts and glimpses of your muscular thighs had me struggling in my downward dog. Not only did I cleanse my mind in that class, I added some new material to the spank bank. Please....Please....PLEASE say in the back row next class.
Thank you to everyone who has followed me from Diamond in The Rough. It's been a tough transition, but I'm muddling through it.
Thank you Olympics for FINALLY being over. I haven't been to sleep before midnight in the last 2 weeks. Why didn't someone tell me I'd be straining to stay awake to watch men in spandex outfits?
That's a wrap, lovers. Make sure you find me on Facebook. Not only do you get my blog everyday, I send love and naughtiness through-out the day.
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Need For Equality in Indecency
We spend the entire first four months of a relationship trying to make the other person think we're perfect. Women try to convince the men that they wake up looking this sexy/fresh and men try to convince the women that they don't have any disgusting mannerisms or that they smell. The next four months are a slow move into honesty. Women try to convince the men they wake up looking just short of adorable and men admit to occasional bowel movement/fart and get caught picking their nose. Sooner or later a year has gone by. Women have become some what comfortable and may or may not go without make up in front of the men. Men have lost all sense of decency and proclaim that the woman shall like him they way he is - skid marks, bed farts, turds left floating in the toilet and all.
TH and I were like that. For the first four years of our relationship, I had him convinced I did not fart or poop and I looked like a Vogue cover every minute of every day. When we went on long trips, I would wait until we ate out at a restaurant so I could use the bathroom. I didn't want to be stuck in a hotel room and have him find out I was just as gross as he was. I have actually farted out the window of the Millennium Bostonian in Boston. A beautiful classy hotel that I stuck my pajama clad hiney out between the terrace doors and polluted Fanueil Hall.
Eleven years later, I could really care less. The man must honestly and truly love me, for he thinks I'm a sex goddess even when I come home from a 1 1/2 hour yoga class, sweaty and smelling of other people’s armpits. (True story! He grabbed me last week) I have been able to perform every bodily function within a 15 foot radius of him and he still thinks I'm fabulous and wants to ravage my body. (not necessary just after or during said functions) Ladies, it's been a relief. Now, I can actually release unwanted gas during a long trip instead of clenching and twisting in pain while I try desperately not to pollute the interior of the car. I did this the other day. Load of coffee during brunch = uncomfortable situation. I just let it happen. Of course, I immediately rolled down the window. I didn't know what the outcome, but I was prepared. TH looked over at me, curious as to why I'd open the car window while it was raining. Then he smirked at me and rolled his eyes. Oh the love! This man is the best.
The only time I ever have a problem with disgusting behaviors is when we have vacation time with his family. This weekend, I was stuck in ski condo for three days with his parents. Three days of rich, yummy food. Three days of excessive alcohol consumption. Three days of intestinal distress. Three days of running to the second floor guest bathroom so no one would know what I was doing. The pure agony of waiting until the first floor guest bathroom was occupied so I could have the excuse to use the second floor. The need to pop up from my carefully accessorized nest on the couch to run into our bedroom to "get something". The jealousy I felt when my father-in-law ripped a big one while watching Apollo or TH while he was moseying around the family room. It's just not fair. Men are allowed to be gross.
Thankfully, we have returned home. To a place where I can truly be my disgusting self.
Guys, your woman is just like you. Okay, maybe not AS gross as you. We don't like to sit in the bathroom reading for an hour, marinating in our own stench. We're also not proud of the sound, bass quality, potency, length and pitch of our emissions. We make sure the toilet flushes ALL THE WAY and we know how to use toilet paper properly. But, we ladies are still human. We don't wake up all purdy (I have long blond hair and TH says I look like an "angry lion" when I wake up) and we're exhausted from looking perfect all the time. Love us for ourselves. Be like TH. The man accepts me for who I am and he gets a blowjob when ever he wants. No questions asked!
TH and I were like that. For the first four years of our relationship, I had him convinced I did not fart or poop and I looked like a Vogue cover every minute of every day. When we went on long trips, I would wait until we ate out at a restaurant so I could use the bathroom. I didn't want to be stuck in a hotel room and have him find out I was just as gross as he was. I have actually farted out the window of the Millennium Bostonian in Boston. A beautiful classy hotel that I stuck my pajama clad hiney out between the terrace doors and polluted Fanueil Hall.
Eleven years later, I could really care less. The man must honestly and truly love me, for he thinks I'm a sex goddess even when I come home from a 1 1/2 hour yoga class, sweaty and smelling of other people’s armpits. (True story! He grabbed me last week) I have been able to perform every bodily function within a 15 foot radius of him and he still thinks I'm fabulous and wants to ravage my body. (not necessary just after or during said functions) Ladies, it's been a relief. Now, I can actually release unwanted gas during a long trip instead of clenching and twisting in pain while I try desperately not to pollute the interior of the car. I did this the other day. Load of coffee during brunch = uncomfortable situation. I just let it happen. Of course, I immediately rolled down the window. I didn't know what the outcome, but I was prepared. TH looked over at me, curious as to why I'd open the car window while it was raining. Then he smirked at me and rolled his eyes. Oh the love! This man is the best.
The only time I ever have a problem with disgusting behaviors is when we have vacation time with his family. This weekend, I was stuck in ski condo for three days with his parents. Three days of rich, yummy food. Three days of excessive alcohol consumption. Three days of intestinal distress. Three days of running to the second floor guest bathroom so no one would know what I was doing. The pure agony of waiting until the first floor guest bathroom was occupied so I could have the excuse to use the second floor. The need to pop up from my carefully accessorized nest on the couch to run into our bedroom to "get something". The jealousy I felt when my father-in-law ripped a big one while watching Apollo or TH while he was moseying around the family room. It's just not fair. Men are allowed to be gross.
Thankfully, we have returned home. To a place where I can truly be my disgusting self.
Guys, your woman is just like you. Okay, maybe not AS gross as you. We don't like to sit in the bathroom reading for an hour, marinating in our own stench. We're also not proud of the sound, bass quality, potency, length and pitch of our emissions. We make sure the toilet flushes ALL THE WAY and we know how to use toilet paper properly. But, we ladies are still human. We don't wake up all purdy (I have long blond hair and TH says I look like an "angry lion" when I wake up) and we're exhausted from looking perfect all the time. Love us for ourselves. Be like TH. The man accepts me for who I am and he gets a blowjob when ever he wants. No questions asked!
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