is there such a thing as TMI?

there’s not even a good title for this one. i would call it a TMI post, but this goes WAY BEYOND even a TMI. i will throw a warning up here: PLEASE, for your own safety, PLEASE do not consume hot beverages while reading this posting. also: please make sure you pee before reading as i will not be held responsible for any wayward puddles that may result.

oh lordy.

you’ve been warned. and i’ll warn you a few more times: i’m EMBARRASSED. and for _ME_ to say that…

let’s just say THANK HEAVENS there are no cameras allowed in bathroom stalls.

scared yet?

ok…i told you there would be a few more warnings: here’s one: TMI AHEAD. STOP READING NOW IF YOU ARE FAINT OF HEART.

confession: i like to have sex. i happen to have a boyfriend currently who also enjoys the same activity. last night we happened to enjoy the activity together.

still hanging in there? i know…that wasn’t TOO much of a shocker, but sometimes there’s things you like to pretend you never know…that may have been one of them.

another warning: EVEN MORE TMI AHEAD. again, if that last one set you on edge, you should REALLY stop reading now.

confession: during said sexual activity, sometimes additional *cough* items are introduced. like…say…vibrators. like small bullet vibrators. like small bullet vibrators that are *cough* inserted (more for his pleasure than mine).

just to be clear: small bullet vibrators inserted into _ME_ (not him) for his additional sexual pleasure.

still hanging in there?

oh crap. ok. if you made it through that…

so. last night happened to be one of those nights where fun was had and toys were brought out and enjoyed. yes, on a tuesday. we’re rebels like that. so. if you happen to know anything about the female anatomy, you know that after a good orgasm, certain muscles tighten up. this can, at times, make toy retrieval particularly difficult. especially when the boyfriend grabs the smaller of the two bullets for play time. there’s a reason there are TWO of them, they each have their own purpose. small ones are NOT intended to go inside. and these bullets happen to be wireless. and loopless. so. you know. you have to have a BIT of know-how to recover them. well. last night between the particularly good muscle tightening and the inadvertent use of the smaller toy, things got a little *cough* stuck. so. yeah. no amount of coaxing, muscle work, anything was helping. the only thing to resort to was a bit of yoga breathing, waiting for the muscles to relax, and then trying again.

well, here’s the thing about yoga breathing. it’s really calming. like…i don’t know…make you fall asleep calming.

and here’s the thing about sleep: it tends to make you forget things. like. i don’t know…certain search and rescue missions that were supposed to be on the schedule.

*cough*

so.

um.

i was reminded today. this afternoon actually. *cough* at work. umm…yeah…

turns out if you forget to do a search and rescue, it will eventually rescue itself.

*cough*

so. you know. umm…i’m “in the library” at work, the think tank, the power room, the loo…going about my business and suddenly i’m not so gently reminded of what i was supposed to do last night.

by a splash.

-sigh-

how’s that TMI thing working for you right about now?

so.

you can’t make this shit up.

there may or may not have been a fishing expedition that happened instead of a search and rescue mission.

YOU CAN’T FLUSH A SEX TOY DOWN THE WORK TOILET. i mean REALLY? my luck it would be the final straw on the camel’s back that screws up the whole work plumbing situation and causes every pipe in the building to burst and one little tiny silver bullet to go shooting through the air stabbing some unsuspecting person IN THE EYE and making them wear a patch and be a pirate for the rest of their life and making EVERYONE in the place turn and look at the girl with blue hair and tattoos because OBVIOUSLY she would be the person that would cause something like this and then EVERYONE WOULD KNOW and then i would get the nickname vampire killer (silver bullet, get it?) and would forever be branded at work. and while it _MAY_ initially improve my dating life (well, except for the whole already having a boyfriend that cause dthis whole mess thing) it would eventually just make people start avoiding my desk and looking at me strange and making sure i ALWAYS had hand sanitizer on my desk (if you were curious, washed my hands approx 4 times with DOUBLE soap and used half a bottle of purell).

long story short: i need to start doing more kegel exercises.

this is why tuesdays: fishing

so, i was talked into suckered into joining a free dating site.

~sigh~ i'll wait while you go get the popcorn. it's gonna be a good one.

so, all the dating sites in the world- they're ALL THE SAME. same people, same badly spelled profiles, same HORRIBLE pictures. it's terrible. really, really terrible. but, due to a lack of friends with "let me set you up" schemes, and lack of time to go douche hunting at the local bars, i'm stuck fishing online...cause that's what it is: plentyoffish.com fishing. HORRIBLE.

it's this gem of a site where i dug up "hmmmmm..." guy. oh yeah. que.all.eh.tee.

so. being gifted with an abundance of perserverance stupidity i've stuck with it hoping for the ONE GOOD CATCH. but alas, much like "the one that got away", there are none to be found. instead, i shall regale you with tales of that i have found.

ready?

fish #1:
first email: those are huge!
what? maybe he's...hmm...check my profile...nope...normal pictures...what the hell is he talking about? what are huge?
for clarity, here are the pictures i posted of myself:

as you can see...nothing scandalous, nothing racy, nothing flashing anything...just me. so WHAT are huge? i'm not understanding. i'm sure he's talking about the girls...but really? there's no money shots...nothing to display them...AM I MISSING SOMETHING?
so, giving asshat fish the benefit of the doubt i email back:
me: my sunglasses? i guess they're big, but not too much.
asshat fish: ha ha, you're funny.
me: so i've been told a time or two.
ahf: so, what are you into?
me: reading, movies, usual stuff. you?
ahf: i like to read too.
me: have you read anything good lately?
ahf: you know, let's just cut to it. you gonna show me your tits or what?

~snarf~

wanna guess what my answer was?

moving on. i know. you're shocked i let that catch get away. i'll give you a moment to recover.

*hmmmmm....*

moving on? so. first thing i do when the rare email comes in is to check the profile FIRST, before wasting any time reading drivel. so, email from fish #2 comes in: i check the profile and it is *shock* all spelled correctly and in regular human language. passed the first check point. stats seem mostly normal- likes to do normal things, no drugs, owns a car (yes, these are real profile questions). the about me section say he knows how to treat a lady with respect, is interested in having a good time and getting to know someone for who they really are. ummm...BULLSHIT. but you know...let's check the email just in case:

dipwhip fish: hey. your hot. waz up?

*blink* WHAT? what happened to treating a lady with respect? if THAT is treating a lady with respect...i think i found out why he's still in the pond. and what happened to the smart person that was able to string together enough letters to form an actual sentence in a real paragraph for the profile? and what happened to the person that knew the difference between your and you're??

~sigh~

and the last one for tonight. best for last. just for you my pets. fish #3 goes by the name drdondac1. hello doctor don. hmmm...normal profile...emailed a few weeks ago...normal conversations. would like to get together for coffee...blah blah blah...all seems normal. was able to keep up with quips and jokes. this fish *MAY* have some potential...hmmmm....(yes, i did that on purpose). so, drdondac disappears for about 2 weeks. whatevs. no skin off my ass. moving on.

OH WAIT.

email from the good doctor last night. apparently he's been in tennessee on government work for the last few weeks. so. what we're going to do now is give you the email exchange, and then we'll play: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? (and all the emails are word. for. word. nothing has been changed or paraphrased...it's as real as it gets.)

me: what is tennessee like anyway? i've never been there...anything exciting in the middle of all the work?
drfish: green
me: green? hmm...that happens to be the color i'm adding to my hair this friday. well, emerald.
drfish: wow. love to see that.
me: i'm pretty excited...getting the style changed for the first time in a few years, adding in the emerald instead of the usual purple. good to change it up now and again! something new for summer. what do you like to do away from work?
drfish: keeping natural down below or changes too?
me: wow...cuttin right to it huh?

drfish: sorry Im very straight forward but dont want to offend you sorry
me: i don't offend easily...just think boys are funny. truth? not much to make changes to.
drfish: Why not ? Little girl style?

~vomit~

ok. so. besides the fact that ya'll got a TMI in there with all that...ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? now, i understand that most people would have bailed after the first red flag question in which he completely ignored my trying to have a normal conversation and  jumping straight for the basement. BUT...you know...i thought i could steer the conversation away from CREEPY a bit and go back into non-freak range. i dared venture an email or two further...

i should have known better. once they turn into a freak you can never uncross that line. but i tried to...you know...move on...but then LITTLE GIRL STYLE? i'm sorry. my radar must be broken. i completely missed the I'M A CREEPY PEDOPHILE beacon that must have been running on FULL BLAST this whole time. caught it now. "little girl style"??? did anyone else throw up? everything from the last year?  seriously. i think i just lost about 15 pounds. WHO THE FUCK CALLS IT "LITTLE GIRL STYLE"??? you fucking pervert. creeped me the fuck out.

so. needless to say: i'm giving up fishing. apparently the spokane fish pond is a toxic chemical dumping ground. mutated, freakish, dear god what is that thing? fish.

~vomit~ sorry...just can't get that last one out of my head...WHAT THE FUCK?

so. all this is to say: i'm sorry kids. it may be a while before you get another terrible date story from me. i know. it breaks your heart. but what can i do?

funny how things happen

so, i've made the joke several times about my baby factory being closed. as in CLOSED. as in i told them to just pop it all out and give it to someone that needed one since mine obviously worked so well and surely someone must want one...

my factory was closed 7 years ago while they were fishing for a second spawn. like a bogo sale: two procedures for the price of one. if they could have thrown in a tummy tuck and a little lipo at the same time it would have been even better. but i joked with my doctor at the time that he'd better do a damn good job or else he'd be raising the next one...he assured me that he did TWO LASER CUTS on each side so NOTHING was getting through. he was actually a really great doctor...delivered both my spawns. had a great sense of humor, even about things like that. and not only was he a great doctor, he was already a great dad. with FIVE kids of his own. you know...what's one more?

there's a point...i promise.

well, there's been times over the years where i've had a few panic attacks and wondered JUST HOW GOOD OF A JOB DID HE DO? like the time a year or so ago where i was approximately 56 days late, had peed on around 98748 sticks (or maybe just two), and had even gotten an ultra sound JUST TO MAKE SURE. or this year where i just broke a run of 15 days late (technically it's still thursday by three minutes, so i'm still allowed to cross the TMI line).

to put it simply, even though i've been assured and reassured and KNOW it won't happen, i've still had moments wondering...will he have to make good on that deal and raise another kid?

well...turns out...

YES.

just not mine.

that was fun. freak out a little? ha ha ha ha ha...sick and twisted sense of humor.

talked to my mum last night for a bit and the topic came up...turns out over the years my old doc HAS adopted several kids. two siblings a bit ago, and currently is in the process of adopting brand new twins (or at least they took one home for a bit...may just be temporary foster or an adoption...not sure yet).

how cool is that? i mean...if i'm counting right, that puts him up to...what...5+2+2...WAY MORE THAN I COULD HANDLE....which was why the factory was closed...but...i guess he WOULD have followed through...

people like that are just...AWE.SOME. seriously, can we have a few more like that? i know a BUNCH i would be willing to boot off the island so they could be replaced by GOOD people like this! let's vote, shall we?

just to clarify: great doctor. baby factory securely closed. no longer in limbo wondering on ANY points. and NINE. N.I.N.E. that's a LOT of diapers and patience.

TMI Thursday: the grooming edition

are you shuddering already? yes, that's right: TMI AND GROOMING together in one.

so. ladies. (was that creepy to anyone besides me?). you can sit back and just agree with me on this post. i'm addressing any of my men readers at this point (hopefully there's A LEAST one...if i can make the difference in ONE person's life...).

*ahem*

grooming: we all know i'm not one to beat around the bush, so i'll get right to the point. MEN: GO GET A MANICURE AND PEDICURE. or at least learn how to do it yourself. jesus fuck people. is anyone else sick of getting into bed with a tree monkey? as in YOU COULD CLIMB TREES WITH THOSE THINGS. ~vomit~

i mean...REALLY. i can't even discuss the feet issue...too gross for even me. just get it fucking taken care of. when your toe nails are a darker shade of yellow and thicker than a 2 pound block of tillamook cheddar...GET IT FUCKING TAKEN CARE OF. there is NO shame in getting a pedicure. any woman you ever get in bed with ever again will love you for it. ew. mental image. i just threw up a little.

now the fingers. ~sigh~ i know it seems gay in the not happy way to go in and get a manicure. I GET IT. but GET OVER IT. it isn't. and i'm not asking you to get all buffed and polished. you don't need to get flowers and hearts painted on your pinkies. i'm just asking POLITELY (or...you know...DEMANDING) that you have something less than wolverine claws when you *ahem* go there. and by there i mean: QUIT TRYING TO EDWARD SCISSORHANDS MY SPECIAL LADY AREA. holy christmas. jagged nails ARE NOT COMFORTABLE. rough hangnails and callouses DO NOT "add to the experience".

how would you feel if i had a jagged chipped tooth that i refused to have fixed? or if i went all hard core twilight junkie and sharpened myself some fangs? or if i wore sandpaper gloves to add to your experience??

GET IT FIXED. it's cheap, it's relaxing and enjoyable (there's a reason women do these thing all the time). you can go in the middle of the day when your guy buddies are at work so no one will see you. hell...go at night and make it a group thing. most salons have a tv in them...you can watch football while you're there. really, women will be SO HAPPY to see men getting it taken care of they won't complain about the football.

for the love of special lady areas everywhere. please. i beg you. MANICURE. PEDICURE. NOW.

(ps: DOUBLE the foot demand if you ever want to wear sandals out in public!)

this post does not exist:

i would just to make one thing perfectly clear: the blog you are about to read does not exist. the things it talks about DO NOT HAPPEN. like ever. it's ALL made up. NONE of it is real. this is all in you imagination.


this subject is completely made up because we all know that none of this would EVER happen to a woman, and IF it ever did (it doesn't) we would never admit to it. much less blog about it. in detail.


clear?


ok. so. i have an issue with...umm...dropping off the cosby's at the pool. taking a little time to read a magazine. visiting mr. hanky. POOPING. okay? i have an issue with poop.


~sigh~


yes. i went there. it is too much information thursday after all.


so. because it's me, i can't have normal issues with it. or maybe they are normal but since women never talk about it we don't know it's normal...especially since it doesn't actually happen. like ever. i'm making it all up that i ever would consider doing such a thing. right? we on the same page?


ok. so. here's my issues with pooping...if it were ever to happen. which it doesn't:


1: the noise. you KNOW that when you're home alone you will never make noise. everything will go as planned and there will be no problems. but the minute you're at work, or in a public place, or in the most inconvenient place possible, all hell breaks loose. see, it's when you're in those places that your body suddenly decides to release every single molecule of gas that you've been holding in since the day of your birth (cause women don't do that either). the fuller the bathroom is, the more gas you've been holding in. same goes with tiled bathrooms: the more tile to create an echo, the more noise your body will figure out how to make. it happens every. single. time.  also: what's with the inevitable "splash"????? why does it always have to sound like shamoo doing tricks at sea world? why does it sound like the winner at a belly flop contest EVERY. TIME.??


2: the cosby's HATE me. it never. ever. fails. every time they HAVE TO GO TO THE POOL RIGHT NOW we get to the pool and the decide they're not really up for swimming right now. maybe the water looks cold. maybe they they're afraid of the high dive. i don't know what it is, but they ALWAYS decide they don't want to go swimming as badly as they did two minutes ago when i was in the middle of work. or...one will decide to go swimming and the other can't make up their minds. maybe i do...oh no...wait...i don't. oh yeah i do....wait...nope. BUT NOW I DO. just kidding. now? no. and you try to...you know...push them off the edge, encourage them along...but they won't have any of it. so you're all FINE. no swimming for you! and then 10 minutes later they're all WE WANT TO GO SWIMMING NOW. 


sweet chocolate baby jesus (yes, i did that on purpose).


ok. i'll quit now. that's more than enough for me on this subject. two TMI thursdays in a row...damn. i promise i won't make this a habit. or maybe i will. hell, it's nothing new for me anyway.


and remember: THIS BLOG NEVER HAPPENED. it's impossible to write a blog about something that i would never ever do...right? RIGHT?? ok. good. you were never here....

TMIT: the first and the last

***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

Steal this button and put it in your post just by copying and pasting the html code in the box below, or just link back to the hub with this link, so your readers can read ALLLLLLL the TMI glory, and I’ll make sure to link to you.***
TMI Thursday
 

ok kids. this is my first and my last TMIT: LiLu, this is all for you darling. i am blushing at the thought of posting this story, but it only seems right that if i'm going to jump on the bandwagon, the LAST bandwagon, i have to do it with guns a-blazing, in the most humiliating way possible. this story has been known to make it's way to light in the company of good friends and after MANY drinks...so i think this is the perfect home for it. that said: let me tell you about kevin:

i met kevin online back in the yahoo chat room days. WHAT? you know you did it too. shush. so. we chatted for a long time (months) but had never met since he lived across the state. and, as a newly divorced young mom with two kids i didn't do much traveling. kevin seemed mostly normal...as normal as someone can seem in chat anyway. he was able to keep up with conversation, crack jokes, catch my jokes...it was fun to have a pretend friend to chat with after the kids were in bed. fast forward a few months, i actually ended up going on a road trip (with my mum) to a town only about 30 minutes from where kevin lived. so he decided to drive up and meet me. my mum and i had adjoining rooms at the motel we were staying at...and...well...let's just say that didn't bother kevin at all. i will warn you: this is horrifying: we ended up gettin dirty on the floor in the bathroom. that's right. a motel bathroom floor. with my mum in the adjoining room (thus the bathroom...it put at least one more door between us). i don't even want to think about it. motel. bathroom. floor. *shudder* oh.my.god.

~sigh~

but that isn't it kids. that wasn't the TMIT post. that was just the back story. yes, it gets worse from there. so. kevin it turns out was fairly normal (thus the actual gettin it on, not just a friendly hi, thanks for driving up). we continued to chat after our little romp and he decided to drive all the way up north to the middle of BFE to visit me a few weeks later. this time in my own house. with my own bed. much better. and he did! and i was flattered. aww...a boy drove across state to see me.

so. you know that moment when a little alarm bell goes off i your head and you start to think: hmm...maybe this is something i'm not ok with?

three words: RED. VELVET. THONG.

and not me kids. NOT. ME. that's right. "somewhat normal" kevin was wearing a red. velvet. thong. not just a boy in a thong (ew). not just a boy in a red thong (ew, ew). a boy in a RED. VELVET. THONG. (vomit). here's another fun fact about kevin: he was a little alternative. now granted, this was back before i had any ink or anything different about me, so you know, pretty much EVERYTHING was shocking. not anymore. sure kevin had ink, which was "so edgy" to me then. kevin also had piercings. well. one anyway. just one. one.oh.god. piercing. i've never seen anything like it again and i REALLY, REALLY hope i never do. you see, kevin had (probably still has...who knows) a "down there" piercing. yes. red. velvet. thong. boy had a down there piercing. and not just a little bar, or a stud, or anything dainty. oh hell no. he went ALL OUT. imagine a circle with the diameter of a silver dollar. now add the gauge of approximately a pencil. now. place that THROUGH THE TIP. yes. through the tip. i don't even know how to describe it more than that: let's just say: if you ever saw the pam anderson/tommy lee video...know the part where he hangs the towel over it? kevin would have had a nice little ring to tuck it through...like a little mustache at the end of a pinocchio nose...OH.MY.OUCH.

and we're still not done yet kids. i warned you i was coming out with guns a-blazing.

so. we have red velvet thong boy. with the optional towel ring. and...alternative tastes. you see. after we bow-chicka-wow-wowed, he was interested in a little more. now...here's me: young, innocent (i honestly was back then...truth) flattered as hell that a guy drove across state for me...i'm pretty much gonna do whatever he asks. and boy did he he ask. you see...he wanted to...umm...visit other continents. like austrailia. like...ones i'd never been to before. EVER. like...ones i wasn't sure i EVER wanted to go to. you know...ummm...THERE. and i'm reasoning it out: well...he DID drive across state for me...so...

(if i had ever watched sex and the city at this point, i SO would have understood charlotte SO much better).

now. here's the thing. when you've never been to austrailia, you don't know what you're supposed to do. you don't know the customs or the rituals. you don't know how to...umm...prepare for your trip. if you're smart you read a tour guide before you go...i had never even planned on going and had never read a tour guide. i trusted that my traveling buddy had been there before and knew what he was doing. looking back...i'm thinking not so much.

so. we have red. velvet. thong. boy. with LARGE *ahem* "ear"ring. with his passport to austrailia and he's ready to go. damn. there's really no delicate way to end this story...so...we will just list the mistakes that i QUICKLY learned:

#1: girl should NEVER EVER EVER be on top. EVER.

#2: there should ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS be plenty of lube and preparation.

#3: there should NEVER. EVER. EVER. EVER. EVER. EVER. be piercings of any type involved.

so. my first "exploration to the other side of the world" lasted all of about 30 second. MUCH pain. MUCH. ~sigh~ MUCH PAIN.

there you have it. the first, the last, the mortifying TMIT. all for you LiLu.