Please Tell Me

Tell me that you all know that the video wasn't my [Hallmark holiday] gift, because if any of you seriously thought that my husband is that kind of a dick AND that I would put up with said dickishness I would be ashamed. Ashamed of you. However, I do not take suggestions lightly, and I believe that Teddy Bear needs Box Lunch: The Layperson's Guide to Cunnilingus written by the lovely Diana Cage. Of course it is written by a woman for two (or more if you'd like I suppose) women to enjoy, but even the most manly man could likely get something out of it. In my opinion, one can never practice the fine art of going downtown overly much.

As far as dildos go, I had one once about fifteen years ago. I loved it dearly and it served a certain purpose at the time. Since then? Meh. I don't really have any needs that aren't well served by TB or my own two hands. You're welcome for the over share.

I had someone at the house one time that observed a random Sam bra hanging out on the couch. He was rather surprised at its plain cotton blah-ness. I suppose if you talk to me at length you might think that I have a whole ball of kinky sexiness at my disposal, including HOT HOT undies. Actually I am all about comfort in my everyday wear. I love cotton. There. I said it. I fucking hate lace, itching, tight rubbing tagged misery. I have issues with skin sensitivity, not that I get rashes but that my stupid body likes to interpret normal clothing as BAD! and HORRID! and OUCH! Some days are better than others. If society wasn't so damn obsessed with my fairly perky tits and HELLO! nipples I would never ever wear a bra. It's not like the damn things move around much without one, they just do their boob thing and occasionally attract my husband's attention.

I don't know if it is the FMS that keeps me from pursuing the crazy fun with toys sex or a unhealthy dose of apathy. I know that devoting energy to figuring out the very best vibrator seems a little silly when I am struggling to get through each day. I like to tell myself that eventually I will get tired of vanilla sex with TB and want to ramp it up to something more appliance-oriented. It's just that vanilla can be awesome. Especially big ole Wookie vanilla. RAWR!

Speaking of FMS, I haven't posted much about how I have been doing lately. The short answer is shitty. Full-time student teaching, including all the preparation before and after school is more than my body can handle. Trying to "pass" is supremely difficult right now. (By "pass" I mean appear like I am not in a fuckton of pain with every muscle in my body stiff and pissed off at me.) I only taught the equivalent of one full day last week, and I don't know if this week will be any better. At this point my supervisor is in my corner and trying to get me full credit without finishing all the hours typically necessary-due to my disability. She thinks that I am a rockstar in the classroom (she is the one that observes four lessons during the eight weeks and makes sure that I am semi-competent). So cross your fingers for me. At this point I won't go back in the fall unless I get pregnant and go into full remission. I just can't do it feeling like I do. Yay fucked up body failing me!

Damn I sound whiney today, huh? I'd really love a nice, hot bath and a couple of darvocet to take the edge off but the urge for a fetus NOT addicted to pain medication is greater. Speaking of my uterus, it's cycle day 23 and I'm having trouble resisting the urge to pee on anything that remotely resembles a pee stick. Watch out Dude and Reina!

Happy Day

Teddy Bear was fucking around with a disk of some sort, rather excitedly burning an album I thought. Maybe the Kate Nash CD that I kindly gave to a friend and now needed a new one? Au contraire mon frère! TB said "I got this movie for you for [ridiculous Hallmark day that is today]" and then he put it in the media center PC and I saw the following image emblazoned onto our television:


He went on to say in a dry narrators voice:

"Heather Brooke runs an amateur website I Deep Throat and is fairly well known for her talents. This is an instructional video she created."

He says with all the sincerity that he can muster, all the while attempting not to laugh his ass off at the OMFGWTFBBQ look on my face. Luckily for me, the video does not seem to work. Also? I do not have a huge (or medium or small or ANY) dildo to practice on so I guess he's just going to have to keep imagining deep throated blow jobs now isn't he? Fucking douche canoe.

My Wookie

I probably forgot to mention that Teddy Bear's real-life nickname is Wookie. Before I had a chance to see him without his shirt on, I thought it meant he was strong, broke things frequently and was super hairy. Luckily for me, it was only the first two things. Sigh of fucking relief because do you see all that hair? Ew.

He is capable of being gentle, however it makes him cranky if he has to do it for extended periods of time. Seriously. The crankitude is due to the effort he has to put forth to not break shit. It requires mad concentration and results in badness if he is interrupted (who can listen to a woman nag AND try not to break shit at the same time?) but he can do it. *breaks into song* "Boooooob the Builder! Can we fix it? Yes we can!" I fucking hate that show. HATE IT.

One of the great things (mentioned by Eliza in the previous post) about having a freakishly strong hubby is that he can pick me up and move me around if I am broken (or passed the fuck out - known as PTFO around these parts) with ease. Of course, I might end up with bruises on the parts of my body that slam into walls (ouch, knees! be careful of the knees!) while being carried, but it's the price you pay, right?

Two Six Hundred

This is my 600th post. I am not a huge celebrator of anniversaries or numbers or quite frankly, any fucking thing. But six hundred is a fuckton of writing. I can't believe that my blog is almost three years old. Although my blogging has waned at times, I have never once (to my spotty recollection) considered throwing in the towel. Either than means I'm too stubborn or too lazy to quit. Whatever. I have learned to make sentences out of single words. I have learned just how much skin I am willing to show off to the world, and how little I care that I am spewing my personal business for all the innernets to see.

I've also realized that I censor some things, while other things just fall the fuck out of my brain and I plain forget to post them. Like the new car. We bought a car a week or two ago, new to us not brand new. And I never posted about it. I'm not posting about it now, although I plan on taking a picture of the missing door handle and posting about that in short order. Teddy Bear is quite well known for breaking shit. There is a technical term for it (help me out here Eliza) but I like to call it "Bull in a china shop" syndrome. Where Teddy Bear is the Bull and the china shop is the world. Shit, the car is probably parked in the driveway and I could take a picture of it and post it right now. Except for the fact that I am horizontal and clad only in my skull and crossbones with a Santa hat undies, tucked warmly into bed and I am NOT moving for your entertainment people.

Back to the door handle. TB was attempting to open the driver's side car door and he ripped off the handle. This was the fucking FOURTH handle that he has removed accidentally in his very short lifetime. Luckily for him, he has never done it to my car, but he has done it to friends vehicles. The new handle has been procured and will be installed by us this weekend, but WTF, man! Sometimes, I think about the possibility of TB handling a newborn baby and then the world goes all black and HEY! he wouldn't break a baby would he?

Formula Fuckup

I was living by myself in an apartment in North San Diego county when I had my first son. After he was born I got a call from the apartment manager about a package in the office. I went to pick it up and found a case of formula. It was one of those "new mom" freebies that they send to everyone that delivers a child I suppose. They must have gotten my name from the hospital.

I carried the formula back to my apartment and placed it on the floor. The sight of it was like a knife in my gut. I don't remember what I did with it, but I will never forget it. My breasts full of milk, my living room full of formula, all to feed a baby that would never be there.

Lamest Drug Addict EVAR!

I never updated you guys/girls on my great quest to get my drug situation in line with the baby-making situation. How about a list?

Drugs In My Big Ole Drawer of Drugs:

• Vicodin*
• Darvocet*
• Xanax
• Elavil
• Imitrex
• Qvar*
• Albuterol*
• Flonase*
• Celexa
• Cymbalta*
• Tramadol
• Ultram
• Lunesta*
• Skelaxin (sp?--too lazy to walk into my bedroom to check on the spelling)
• ... I know I'll remember something else five minutes after I hit "publish" on this post

The ones marked with an asterisk are daily medications and have been (mostly) for the last year. The doctor I saw wanted me to go down to: Flonase (allergies), Qvar (asthma), Albuterol (asthma) and .... that's it. He also recommended that I go cold turkey and just suck it up through the withdrawal. Well that sounds all good and fine if you're BATSHIT crazy. I made up my own plan: Flonase, Qvar, Albuterol and 1/2 Celexa (20mg) with the intention of going down as low as I can on the celexa without making my family and my brain hate me (more). Celexa has more acceptable side effects than Cymbalta does, and I just happened to have a shitload of it in my drug drawer from when I switched off of it to try out Cymbalta.

Now, for the what the fuck?!? part... I went cold turkey off of the pain and sleep medications. Other than the trouble sleeping (it is part of the fibromyalgia) I haven't noticed any withdrawal. Now how many people end up in rehab after becoming addicted to painkillers? How the fuck is it possible for me to have a gazillion alcoholics in my family and the only thing I've managed to be addicted to in my life is smoking (cigarettes - three years next month smoke free!!). And don't think I haven't tried when I was young and dumb and full of ... yeah. I suppose I should feel lucky but really I feel like a druggie failure. DAMN IT ALL TO HELL!! Maybe I'm developing an addiction to parenthesis. (Notice?)

---

One last thing-there is a new icon on the sidebar for NaComLeavMo. The idea is that for a month you visit XX number of blogs on the participating list and leave XX comments, as well as respond to comments left on your blog. The point is to start/increase conversations on your blog, as opposed to the posting in a vacuum thing. It is also a good way to meet and greet other bloggers. Click on the picture for details about the month of commenting. If you don't know Stirrup Queen, she is the Jewish mother to the internet infertility world. Did you know that I have experience keeping a Kosher kitchen? Yes, I am talented. Remember the year I spent as a nanny for my good friend? Yep, she's Jewish and keeps Kosher so I learned the ropes. I rock.

---

One last thing. I promise. Today I was out getting my eyebrows ripped off waxed and Chicken and his Little Friend found two dogs roaming the neighbor. By the time I got home they had called the owners and followed the dogs all over tarnation to keep them on the sidewalk and out of the street. I got them to hop in my car to keep them in one place until the owner showed up. She was SO happy to get her puppies back, she had been walking all over the neighborhood and park with a bag of lunch meat calling them (??). My Chicken is following in my footsteps with the saving animals thing. Good Chicken! Good Boy! Sit!

Pr0n

I love me some good porn, and at I Really Should Be Working Thanksgiving Mom is giving away a copy of Porn for New Moms. Speaking of new moms, I am currently in the throes of the two week wait (2ww). For those not in the know, this is the time between baby-making nookie and the expected arrival of the period. Is there something in there? I have no idea. I can tell you that TB and I worked on this project like champions and we'll do it all over again next month if need be. Damn sex!

I have a small request. Let's pretend that you read my blog and you know me (or TB) in real life. Okay? Then let's pretend that I post "OMGWTFBBQ!!!" the instant I pee on a stick and it is positive. THEN let's pretend that I miscarry and post it on here. IF this happens I will likely not talk about it in real life. So DON'T FUCKING BRING IT UP YOU DOUCHE CANOE! It is your responsibility to keep up to date on the blog OR don't read. There is no fucking way I am telling friends that I am pregnant and then calling them all XX number of weeks later to say "Oops! Didn't stick!" Get it? Fabulous. I knew you could do it. Go team uterus!

NIN

Currently, my taste in music and Chicken's coincide nicely. I appreciate this because it is something we can share AND I don't have to listen to fucked off music. Like Country. Or Rap. Ew. Today, on the way back from my weekly massage/chiro adjustment appointment a Nine Inch Nails song came on and Chicken and I struck up a conversation. I was talking about the latest internet release of the new album, the last NIN album that I purchased and whatnot. Chicken asked if that album was Pretty Hate Machine.

Sam: Uh? No. That album came out when I was a sophomore in high school. (Can you believe I remember that, with my Swiss cheese brain?)
Chicken: Wow. They're OLD.
Sam: ...
Chicken: ...
Sam: *blinks*
Chicken: oh. (in a very small voice) Sorry!

By the way, NIN has released their latest album for free on the web (you can find the link on their home page above). It will be available via vinyl or CD this summer. I was talking with TB about it and he was adamant about only having one copy downloaded for our house. That way he can download it and provide it to others via our server and it will cost Trent Reznor less to give to the masses. Isn't that sweet?

Return of the Cooter

Some of you may have noticed that I have been out of town (mostly) since Thursday evening. Yes, it was time again for my semi-annual scrapbook retreat on top of ole Smokey. A fitting nickname considering that I was on top of a mountain and most of the way up to 5000 ft there was an abundance of crispy-fried trees from the 2007 fires. I don't know why it upsets me so much to drive by mile after mile of burnt land but I really hate it. The reason I say I was "mostly" out of town is that although I left Thursday night I came home Friday night to get insperminated. Yes, that isn't a word but just roll with it for fuck's sake, okay? One of my scrappin' buddies commented that I was leaving for a "booty call" which is not exactly the way I saw it but whatever. I got me some sperms up in my hoo-ha and that is what matters. Did I mention that I think I am ovulating? So it wasn't just FUN sex it was BABY MAKING sex. And here is where I feel like a total asshole because either I am going to get pregnant and stay pregnant right away and feel like all the internal worrying I do is for nothing OR I'm going to have trouble and feel like an asshole for thinking that sex is going to easily lead to baby making. Because I'm not the proud owner of a vagina if my brain isn't totally fucked up and twisted like that. Whereas TB is saying, "Woot! I deposited my payload and we're going to have a baby." Can you imagine being that um...optimistic? Me neither. But I'm trying. Guess what? Chicken butt! Also, this is the longest fucking paragraph EVER. Sorry! Lastly, I've caught up on my Twitter comment responses but there were more than will show on my blog so if you're REALLY curious/nosy you may click on the OMG Not Twitter! link to see the rest. Okay? See you tomorrow. Byes!

Shit! I forgot something. The book that a few of you recommended, Taking Charge of Your Fertility? Well Anna, preggo Queen of Annaland owns it and offered to let me borrow it! TB picked it up Saturday (I had returned to scrappin') and NOW I HAVE THE POWER.


Or, um, I have the book. YAY!

PS I can't stop watching the Suck My Ass, Touch a Damn Dick video. Just. Can't. Stop. Loving. It.

Touch A Damn Dick

Dear Fuckers *ahem* Lovely Readers,

I spent MANY seconds updating my template and installing Twitter in order to better serve you, the non-paying customer. However, at this time TWO (2) of you have commented-stifling my ability/desire/what the fucking ever/etc. to respond to you. You suck my ass. All of you. Ass suckers. For your transgressions, I have a video for you to enjoy.


This is what happens when you ask Google to search for "suck ass".

Love,

Sam