The other day, I read an article about Hollywood stars who shy away from the spotlight. In other words, they don't put themselves up for display (Ahem, Tori Spelling you dirty whore) by frequenting the places where the paparazzi (Ahem, Kim Kardashian you mind-numbingly vapid fame slut) and other media types hang out. They're not attention whores. (I'm looking at you Denise Richards, you no talent living off Charlie Sheens crazy ass behavior while you have so much plastic surgery you can barely blink).
Maybe that's what I've been up to lately. Hanging back from the spotlight. I've gained a few pounds (READ: 10) and I'm not feeling as perky as I have been. It's a shame. A damn shame. After my exit from Satan's workshop, I have been wallowing in my misery as I work tirelessly and miserably at the new job. I miss everything about the hellhole I use to work at. If I could have it all back, I would clean Partner #3's private bathroom with a toothbrush every day. Yes, lovers. The new job is worse than cleaning Lucifers skid marks.
The real wake up was this past weekend. I was in my funk, feeling sorry for myself and having a pity party. Just me and a fabulous plate of truffle oil Parmesan french fries. (Grease and I have become best buddies these past couple of months.) Gawd they were good! Truffle oil makes everything yummy. I was trolling Facebook and came across a photo of myself taken at a road race. (Yes, I was able to run a road race with my new found fat. I jiggled a bit, but I cross the finish line). The photo bitched slapped me across the face and called me Kirstie Alley (before Dancing with the Stars). There I was....puffy, pale and sad. A huge change from my cute, perk self only a year ago when I ran the same race.
So, Lovers, I pledge to you, myself and VinDiesel (for he is going to be my second husband and I can't bear the thought of being a fat, sad wife to him) - these things:
1). I shall renew my formerly fabulous figure.
2). I shall stop neglecting you....all 6 of you....who consistently write me and say "Where the fuck are you?"
3.) I shall give you more recipes. I've been eating all this shit, I might as well make you fat too.
4.) I shall bring back the kink, the naughty, the nice, the twisted and the sauciness I desperately miss.
5). I will stop wearing panties. I'm so ashamed of myself.
6.) I can't think of anything else right now, but we can think of some thing later for #6.
Later, lovers. Thanks for listening and being there for me. My love handles thank you too.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Tuesday Tidbits - Celebrity Obessions and Hospital Corners
The world has ended. Nick Lachey is engaged and soon to be married. I'm having a pity party on Saturday night at 5:30 if anyone wants to come.
Now that I'm working 70+ hours a week, I finally broke down and hired a cleaning lady to come in every other week and spruce up the Sinful household. It was getting mangy. I'm a control freak by nature, but I soon realized I was spending my minute amount of free time cleaning. The Husband is a slob and I cannot follow him around with a dust buster. I have my sanity to think of. I love this women to pieces and she does a great job. During the initial walk around, I told her she didn't have to change the sheets or do any of those "maid" type things. Just clean. I'm not entirely helpless. I just can't clean toilets and scrub floors during my precious 2-3 hours off a month. After a few weeks, I came to realize she was re-making our bed. She's obsessed. I make the bed every morning and I think its good enough. Nope. Not for her. She remakes the entire things, with hospital corners and everything. I love her for doing it, but it gives me the creepies thinking about it. She doesn't know what happened in that bed the night before or even that morning. The poor woman.
Jessica Simpson is engaged too. She's not going to let Nick upstage her. Sure, she's only been dating the guy for 7 months. She's right to grab him now and have a quicky wedding before he realizes what a psycho she is. I give it less than a year. Who's with me?
Many thanks to Firecrotch for her thoughtful voicemail. Remember I called her after my stalking episode? She called me back and told me only an abnormal person wouldn't have stalked her lovers ex-girlfriend. We are the normal ones. Love you, girl! Thank you for understanding and loving me despite my flaws.
Jennifer Aniston was put on this earth to make women feel bad about themselves. Everytime I see her I want to gorge on Cheetos then throw myself off the nearest tall building.
Does anyone really care the McRib has returned to McDonalds? I was reading this article the other day and even the author refers to it as "mysterious". Mysterious indeed. Mysterious meat.
Later lovers.
Now that I'm working 70+ hours a week, I finally broke down and hired a cleaning lady to come in every other week and spruce up the Sinful household. It was getting mangy. I'm a control freak by nature, but I soon realized I was spending my minute amount of free time cleaning. The Husband is a slob and I cannot follow him around with a dust buster. I have my sanity to think of. I love this women to pieces and she does a great job. During the initial walk around, I told her she didn't have to change the sheets or do any of those "maid" type things. Just clean. I'm not entirely helpless. I just can't clean toilets and scrub floors during my precious 2-3 hours off a month. After a few weeks, I came to realize she was re-making our bed. She's obsessed. I make the bed every morning and I think its good enough. Nope. Not for her. She remakes the entire things, with hospital corners and everything. I love her for doing it, but it gives me the creepies thinking about it. She doesn't know what happened in that bed the night before or even that morning. The poor woman.
Jessica Simpson is engaged too. She's not going to let Nick upstage her. Sure, she's only been dating the guy for 7 months. She's right to grab him now and have a quicky wedding before he realizes what a psycho she is. I give it less than a year. Who's with me?
Many thanks to Firecrotch for her thoughtful voicemail. Remember I called her after my stalking episode? She called me back and told me only an abnormal person wouldn't have stalked her lovers ex-girlfriend. We are the normal ones. Love you, girl! Thank you for understanding and loving me despite my flaws.
Jennifer Aniston was put on this earth to make women feel bad about themselves. Everytime I see her I want to gorge on Cheetos then throw myself off the nearest tall building.
Does anyone really care the McRib has returned to McDonalds? I was reading this article the other day and even the author refers to it as "mysterious". Mysterious indeed. Mysterious meat.
Later lovers.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Dear Microsoft, Thanks for the Little Things
Does it show how desperate I am for a laugh when checking my Junk Mail box thrills me:
If you don't get it, you need a laugh more than me.
Happy Monday, Lovers. May your printer give you as much joy as mine apparently should.
Happy Monday, Lovers. May your printer give you as much joy as mine apparently should.
Friday, November 12, 2010
StalkHer Ex
Women are curious beasts. Even after 13 years of conjugal bliss, the green eyed monster still hangs out in the corners of my mind.
I was driving down the highway when I saw her. Well, at least I thought it was her. The name on the car was the company she worked for. Adrenaline trickled down my spine when I saw the amber glow of a cigarette scissored between the fingers holding the steering wheel as I cruised by in the passing lane. It was dark and I could only see a silhouette of a woman with short hair. Could it be her? She'd had short hair and had smoked for as long as I remembered. I felt the tingles of hatred as I drove ahead and eased into the travel lane ahead of her. It had been at least 7 years since I saw her in person. Even though she is no threat to me, I still harbor ill-will.
I turned off the exit and felt panicked as I watched her mirror my move and her headlights follow me on the ramp. I drove toward the mall and she was right behind me. Not close enough I could see inside the car. The suspense was killing me. Was it her? Was this whole dramatic episode in my head?
The 5 minute drive from the highway seemed to take hours. As I sat at red light, I strained to see in my rearview mirror. My rear window was fogged with rain and mist so I was only able to make out the soft flame as she dragged on her cigarette. We navigated the rotary and entered the road to the mall. I slowed to turn and she took a hard right into the complex across the street. I craned my neck to see her drive towards the parking area infront of Target.
I sat at a red light waiting to make the turn into the mall parking lot. It was killing me. I knew she would be sliding into a parking space any moment, exiting her car and going into the store. In 30 seconds I would lose her. I would never find out if it was her.
With a sigh, I took a quick glance behind me, turned the wheel and shot my car over 2 lanes of traffic and into the Target parking lot. (Don't tisk tisk. I drove safe. There wasn't anyone around). With exaggerated stealth, I parked my car 2 rows over and waited for her to exit the car. Of course, at that very moment, an SUV of mammoth proportions blocked my view of her exit. Not to be thwarted, I threw my car into reverse and crawled up to the front of the store in time to get the money shot.
It was her. The Husbands ex-girlfriend. The woman who nearly ended my relationship with him before it even began.
She took the last drag from her cigarette, flicked it to the ground and crushed it under her cloven hoof before entering the store. I sat still for a moment, pondering my next move. Then, I took my foot off the brake, turned the wheel and made my way out of the parking lot and towards my intended destination - the mall. I fought every urge I had to go back, park my car and cruise the store aisles hoping to catch a glimpse of her close up. I forced myself to continue on my errands and forget the woman who was just across the street. I called my friend Firecrotch and babbled into her voicemail about my craziness. I knew she would get a laugh at my psychotic behavior and not hold this little break in sanity against me. She would understand the importance of a quick stalk. She gets it. She gets me.
It's amazing how you hold onto things that really shouldn't matter anymore. He married me. Not her. She's a miserable bitch who smells like an ashtray and is at least 35 lbs overweight. I'm the one sleeping next to the sexiest man alive night after night. Yet, I still wasted 10 minutes of my life obsessing about her. Alright....3 hours if you count getting home, racing to the computer and writing about it. Tomorrow, I may have a fleeting thought....or two.
Jealousy. Ain't it a bitch.
I was driving down the highway when I saw her. Well, at least I thought it was her. The name on the car was the company she worked for. Adrenaline trickled down my spine when I saw the amber glow of a cigarette scissored between the fingers holding the steering wheel as I cruised by in the passing lane. It was dark and I could only see a silhouette of a woman with short hair. Could it be her? She'd had short hair and had smoked for as long as I remembered. I felt the tingles of hatred as I drove ahead and eased into the travel lane ahead of her. It had been at least 7 years since I saw her in person. Even though she is no threat to me, I still harbor ill-will.
I turned off the exit and felt panicked as I watched her mirror my move and her headlights follow me on the ramp. I drove toward the mall and she was right behind me. Not close enough I could see inside the car. The suspense was killing me. Was it her? Was this whole dramatic episode in my head?
The 5 minute drive from the highway seemed to take hours. As I sat at red light, I strained to see in my rearview mirror. My rear window was fogged with rain and mist so I was only able to make out the soft flame as she dragged on her cigarette. We navigated the rotary and entered the road to the mall. I slowed to turn and she took a hard right into the complex across the street. I craned my neck to see her drive towards the parking area infront of Target.
I sat at a red light waiting to make the turn into the mall parking lot. It was killing me. I knew she would be sliding into a parking space any moment, exiting her car and going into the store. In 30 seconds I would lose her. I would never find out if it was her.
With a sigh, I took a quick glance behind me, turned the wheel and shot my car over 2 lanes of traffic and into the Target parking lot. (Don't tisk tisk. I drove safe. There wasn't anyone around). With exaggerated stealth, I parked my car 2 rows over and waited for her to exit the car. Of course, at that very moment, an SUV of mammoth proportions blocked my view of her exit. Not to be thwarted, I threw my car into reverse and crawled up to the front of the store in time to get the money shot.
It was her. The Husbands ex-girlfriend. The woman who nearly ended my relationship with him before it even began.
She took the last drag from her cigarette, flicked it to the ground and crushed it under her cloven hoof before entering the store. I sat still for a moment, pondering my next move. Then, I took my foot off the brake, turned the wheel and made my way out of the parking lot and towards my intended destination - the mall. I fought every urge I had to go back, park my car and cruise the store aisles hoping to catch a glimpse of her close up. I forced myself to continue on my errands and forget the woman who was just across the street. I called my friend Firecrotch and babbled into her voicemail about my craziness. I knew she would get a laugh at my psychotic behavior and not hold this little break in sanity against me. She would understand the importance of a quick stalk. She gets it. She gets me.
It's amazing how you hold onto things that really shouldn't matter anymore. He married me. Not her. She's a miserable bitch who smells like an ashtray and is at least 35 lbs overweight. I'm the one sleeping next to the sexiest man alive night after night. Yet, I still wasted 10 minutes of my life obsessing about her. Alright....3 hours if you count getting home, racing to the computer and writing about it. Tomorrow, I may have a fleeting thought....or two.
Jealousy. Ain't it a bitch.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Tuesday Tibits - Lifes Little Mysteries & The Sample Ninja
Why can't I look even remotely sexy when I wake up? This morning, I looked in the mirror and it looked like someone had rubbed a balloon on my head for 2 minutes and then popped it in my face. Charming.
What is with the male enhancement commercials? Two people meet by the washing machines in their basement, touch hands over dirty underwear and suddenly they're sitting in claw foot tubs on the shores of a lake? How do they have sex in separate tubs? Why don't they do it up against the washing machine during the spin cycle? Who's writing these things? I bet its a bunch of science nerds who still live in their parents basement.
Thursday night is pizza night at Casa D'Utterly Sinful. The pizza place we like is located in the mall at the food court. Unfortunately, it is located next to the Thai House. To entice people with their food, the Thai House has stationed a girl out front with a tray of samples. She is like a sample ninja. I take one step into the food court and she pounces on me "Try sample!!!!" while shoving something speared on a toothpick in my face. I try to bypass her or watch until she's busy with some other victim, but she still gets me. This little dance has been going on for months. She hasn't given up but I have figured out how to avoid her. I take a hard left before the food court, circle around the carousel, weave thru 30-40 tables, and it's a straight shot to Pizzeria Reginia. It's exhausting.
I saw a bummer sticker the other day that said "Guns don't kill people. People with mustaches kill people". I don't get it. I have literally spent days trying to figure it out. Please don't put stupid bummerstickers on your car. It confuses me.
My mother doesn't leave voicemail messages when she calls me. If I don't call her back, she gets upset. It's not as bad as my grandmother. We're convinced her phone only works one way - IN. She doesn't call you, you call her. If she's not there, you better as hell leave a message. Don't think you're off the hook. You must continue calling her until you reach her in person, making sure to leave a message each time. My family is crazy.
Why do gay guys call each other cunts? Lesbians don't call each other dicks. One of life's little mysteries.
I was in line for McDonald's the other day, when an evil thought crossed my mind. "How bad would I fuck things up if I moved out of line" I'm sure I'm not the only one who's had this thought, but I get evil sometimes. Then I realized I would miss out on my cheeseburger and fries, so I cleared my brain.
Yes, I was at McDonalds. Super Dupa healthy me. I was stress eating. Sue me.
What is with the male enhancement commercials? Two people meet by the washing machines in their basement, touch hands over dirty underwear and suddenly they're sitting in claw foot tubs on the shores of a lake? How do they have sex in separate tubs? Why don't they do it up against the washing machine during the spin cycle? Who's writing these things? I bet its a bunch of science nerds who still live in their parents basement.
Thursday night is pizza night at Casa D'Utterly Sinful. The pizza place we like is located in the mall at the food court. Unfortunately, it is located next to the Thai House. To entice people with their food, the Thai House has stationed a girl out front with a tray of samples. She is like a sample ninja. I take one step into the food court and she pounces on me "Try sample!!!!" while shoving something speared on a toothpick in my face. I try to bypass her or watch until she's busy with some other victim, but she still gets me. This little dance has been going on for months. She hasn't given up but I have figured out how to avoid her. I take a hard left before the food court, circle around the carousel, weave thru 30-40 tables, and it's a straight shot to Pizzeria Reginia. It's exhausting.
I saw a bummer sticker the other day that said "Guns don't kill people. People with mustaches kill people". I don't get it. I have literally spent days trying to figure it out. Please don't put stupid bummerstickers on your car. It confuses me.
My mother doesn't leave voicemail messages when she calls me. If I don't call her back, she gets upset. It's not as bad as my grandmother. We're convinced her phone only works one way - IN. She doesn't call you, you call her. If she's not there, you better as hell leave a message. Don't think you're off the hook. You must continue calling her until you reach her in person, making sure to leave a message each time. My family is crazy.
Why do gay guys call each other cunts? Lesbians don't call each other dicks. One of life's little mysteries.
I was in line for McDonald's the other day, when an evil thought crossed my mind. "How bad would I fuck things up if I moved out of line" I'm sure I'm not the only one who's had this thought, but I get evil sometimes. Then I realized I would miss out on my cheeseburger and fries, so I cleared my brain.
Yes, I was at McDonalds. Super Dupa healthy me. I was stress eating. Sue me.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Calling a Spade a Spade Mr. Sulu
Hey lovers! I'm all for gay rights. If it wasn't for those fabulous men, we wouldn't have unbelievable fashion, screamingly funny comedies, RuPaul or the Corner Store in Chatham. If it wasn't for those brave women, we wouldn't have Melissa Etheridge, the Indigo Girls or RuPaul. Anyone who says or does anything harmful to someone gay should be kicked in the balls or the box. That's just how I feel. If I'm free to love a sexy hunk of man, a sexy hunk of man should be allowed to love another sexy hunk of man. Just stay away from my sexy hunk of man. He's mine. Really.....I mean it. No dice. He's mine. We would have words. We might fight. I'd win. Trust me.
So, when I heard about George Takei's awesome video post, I had to share it with you. Check this out. It is utterly fabulous. Mr. Sulu, go on with your bad self. We at Utterly Sinful salute you!
So, when I heard about George Takei's awesome video post, I had to share it with you. Check this out. It is utterly fabulous. Mr. Sulu, go on with your bad self. We at Utterly Sinful salute you!
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Feel Yourself Up and Save Your Life!
Unless you're living in a hole, you know it's National Breast Cancer Month. I'm sure we all know someone who has been touched by this disease. Remember my brush with the dreaded C word? There will be 200,000 women (some men too) who will receive horrible news this year. I was lucky.
You, me, all our friends, our friends friends, and their friends friends can benefit from early detection. All it takes is a few minutes every few weeks. While you're in the shower, FEEL YOURSELF UP! Channel your inner teenage boy and grope your girls. Then, you can grab the vibrator and finish things off. It's a win win! Detecting those early cancer lumps is great foreplay.
GUYS!! This is your big chance to cop a feel. Tell your wife/girlfriend you want to help. Grab her jugs and go to work. You could save her life.
After you've honked your hooters, go out there and do something for the cause. Do a breast cancer walk, give some dough to a charity or just call up a person you know who's battling this disease and let them know you're here for them.
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