Don't Be A Michael Jackson

So Chicken and I have semi-regular conversations about inappropriate touching and the like. I know that being informed and feeling comfortable talking about things plays an important in keeping kids safe. Our latest conversation was fucking hilarious.

Sam: Remember to listen to yourself and tell me if you feel uncomfortable around anyone, okay? Even family or a teacher or someone at church.

Chicken butts in and says ""Okay" before I finish talking. I think he gets tired of my prattling on and on.... I can hear him saying in his head "Sheeeit, woman. Can you just stop babbling and let me sit here in peace?" I would reply "No, Chicken, I'm preparing you for the non-stop chatter that comes with being married. Get used to it. It never ends."

Sam: Do you know what I'm talking about?

Chicken: Yes, but it's hard to describe.

Sam: It's called child molestation, Chicken. Remember talking about it?

Chicken: Yes, it means don't be a Michael Jackson.

Sam: Well, um.. yeah.

Chicken: He's a big, fat, lying child molester that doesn't tell the truth, uses drugs and harms little boys.

Sam: Okay then.

I guess we don't need to cover this again for a while, huh? Michael Jackson may be a total fucker, but the press on his trial probably resulted in more than one child realizing that they needed to tell someone about what was happening to them. Now that this unintentional public service is concluded, can someone castrate him already?

Tag. I'm Fucking It

So Aughra at Bad News Blonde tagged my ass. There are very few people that I will allow this kind of behavior from, and luckily Aughra is one of my favorites. So, I'm letting it slide once again. Please do not get the notion in your pretty little heads that I will do these lists on a regular basis. No sir. I'm a crappy list maker unless it's a to-do list. The thing about this tagging that makes it better than most is that I can make up my own questions, AND I don't have to make up questions for anyone that I tag. Seems like the best possible tagging experience one could have on a blog. The only requirement for this list is that I group things in sevens. Some of these things I will talk about in more detail in other posts.

Seven things that I feel strongly about:

1. A women's right to choose.

2. Right to marry, regardless of gender or race or religion.

3. Right to die. Allow terminally ill people to check out on their time schedule.

4. Legalize marijuana.

5. Professional financial planning. I've seen too many people caught with their pants down.

6. Parents raising their children.

7. Racism is stupid.

Seven things that I hate to do:

1. Unload the dishwasher.

2. Scrub toilets.

3. Deal with the cunt that poses as a secretary at my son's school.

4. Put air in my tires.

5. Quit smoking. (I did it but it sucks ass)

6. Talk to customer service people on the phone.

7. Shop at Walmart.

Seven things that I miss eating/drinking due to wheat intolerance:

1. Funnel Cake

2. Beer (Boddington's)

3. Bread (Sourdough)

4. Krispy Kreme donuts (standard glazed, fresh & hot)

5. Flour tortillas (with stuff in them, yummy!)

6. Tempura (anything- no not tempura paint you dumbass)

7. Italian food (in a restaurant, not the rice/corn noodle crap I make at home)

Seven things that I want to do some day:

1. Have a baby girl.

2. Watch my son grow up happy and healthy.

3. Look back and say "I haven't smoked in XX years". Right now I'm at about 13 weeks.

4. See my clients meet their financial goals.

5. Own a home with lots of land on a wooded mountain.

6. Wake up every morning without ANY pain.

7. Spend several years touring the world.

Seven things I like to do in no particular order:

1. Research new client's portfolios (I know this is terribly geeky)

2. Sleep (can never have enough)

3. Eat

4. Spend time with my Chicken

5. Scrapbook

6. Hang out with H3.2

7. Blog/read blogs/read anything

If you would like to do a list of seven, consider yourself tagged. Go make your own damn list and leave me a comment.

Lightning Did Not Strike Me!

I went to the counseling session with my mother yesterday at her church (see previous post for explanation). I won't bore my dear readers with a detailed post on every nuance of the meeting. I do have a few gems for you, though. A quick recap: My mother called me because she had a VERY tough summer and wanted me to go to a counseling session with her. I agreed, knowing that it was going to be a "tell my daughter that she's wrong and hurtful" session. I knew it would be good for her to get out whatever was up her ass, and I was interested to see what this professional would have to say.

Gem #1 My mother tells the therapist that when Chicken came home last weekend she expected to have dinner with us that night, and I went out with her ex-husband instead. From the hurt and outrage in her voice, one would have thought that I was fucking the man and the reason for her divorce. The therapist asked if she had communicated with me her expectation of dinner that night. Uh, no. My mom tried to defend herself by stating that it was something we always did. Whatever, bitch. So I told the therapist my side of the story. I've added a bit more background for your reading enjoyment because I didn't feel like spending three hours with the shrink.

Several weeks prior to Chicken's return, my ex-stepdad called to see if we could have dinner on the night of Chicken's arrival. For simplicities sake, I'll call him "Poppa" because that's what Chicken and I call him. Poppa married my mother when I was sixteen. I couldn't stand him when I was a teenager because he bought into my mother's bullshit. Later, he realized who she really was, but was too in love with her to leave her. Poor man. She divorced him two years ago after ruining him financially. Bitch. Poppa will always be my dad. I love him dearly and he is Chicken's grandfather in every way except for genetics. He is supportive of me in every way, and loves me like his own. He has no biological children. So... going out with my mother's ex-husband was her twisted interpretation of "my daughter and grandson went out with Chicken's grandpa instead of me because I didn't ask".

Gem #2 My mother stated that she "needed to let me go and take care of myself because she just can't do it anymore". Unbeknownst to me, my mother has been providing me with free child care for Chicken's whole life and also taking care of me my whole life, and having to be responsible for my actions and clean up the messes that I create. I'm so glad that I attended this therapy session, because I had no idea that this was, in fact, reality. Wow.

I thought that I moved out of the house at 19 after attending a year of college out of state. I'm pretty sure that happened because I still pay this weird student loan bill thingy each month. Maybe I'm dreaming it all. I also thought that I moved to the East Coast at age 21, got married, bought a home and had a baby. I have pictures to prove it, dammit. I did move back to California in 1999 and live with my mother and stepdad for nine months, while paying rent and being their maid. During that nine months my mother did provide child care to Chicken free of charge as I attended college classes. I moved out, and my mother no longer provided child care of any sort to Chicken. Occasionally he would spend the night at her home on the weekend to allow them to spend time together.

In January of 2004, my mother began to watch Chicken while I worked. She had divorced my step-dad (Poppa) and needed more income. I needed child care. I had finished college and entered the financial industry. I was married to H2 and I PAID her to watch my son. She also did some laundry and cooked Chicken dinner on the evenings that I worked late. Did I mention that I PAID her? I also gave her addtional money when she needed it, just because she is my mother. In June of 2005 she said that she needed to "retire" from watching Chicken. It was just too much for her. I was already looking for a replacement as I couldn't take her shit anymore.

Gem #3
My mother asked who I was using to watch Chicken. I told her that it was a man and she just about fucking shit herself right there in the church. I had expected this from her, as all men are evil predators and pedophiles. Women never, ever fuck up children. They are all Saints. The therapist asked my mother "do you think that you could do a better job of selecting someone to watch Chicken?" She replied "Of course, at least I would choose someone from the Church to watch him so that he would be safe". The therapist actually laughed at her. Everyone knows that people that go to church never abuse children. Duh! From my point of view, I had first hand experience with the child care my mother selected for me. Yeah, she kind of sucked ass at that one.

For the record, I am currently using Teddy Bear (H3.2's good friend) for child care. He is kind, loving and a good human being. I trust him with my child. I trust VERY few people with my child, as I know the kind of sickos that are out there in the world. If my mother had acted with Chicken how she raised me, she would have never been allowed around him. However, she is a much better grandmother than a mother. She's just a controlling bitch when it concerns my life and my decisions.

Ending
The moral of the story? The therapist seemed pleased that my mother would no longer be looking after Chicken. She also told my mother that she needed to learn BOUNDARIES and how to give up control and learn to accept my decisions. My mother would have to ASK me when she wanted to see Chicken, as opposed to talking to him on the phone and making arrangement without my knowledge or permission. She said that this would be much harder for my mother than for me. Duh?! I learned some really bizarre, twisted things that my mother thinks are the truth. I feel better about the whole thing. It's really nice to have someone agreed that your mother is a wack job.

Sidenote
I had to fill out some stupid consent form before the session. Under the section "Have you seen a therapist before? If so, please list who and why" I wrote "not enough room". Under the heading "Why are you here today?" I wrote "My mother is insane". I'm pretty sure the therapist will be amused when she reads my responses.

Insert Foul Language Here

Oh, dear Mother. You are at it again. I believe I have only posted once or twice on my mother, and this is partially due to the fact that I did not see her all summer. I live about two miles from her, however when Chicken is gone I tend to avoid her at all costs. I will not bore you at this time with horrifying tales of parental madness, I merely wish to share a few amusing tales that have a common and recurring theme.

Today my mother called me and had her "Oh my life is so trying and difficult and it's mostly due to the horrible job you do as a daughter" voice. She mentioned that she had not been around this summer due to some issues that had come up. Shit! I thought I was just doing an effective job of projecting the "stay the fuck away from me you worthless whore" vibe. During this conversation she indicated that she wanted me to attend a counseling session with her at her church on Friday. Oh fuck me sideways. Not again.

See, my mother has a history of taking me to "experts" to tell me that what I am doing is wrong. However, all these attempts at salvation have failed miserably. The first attempt was in high school when my mother realized that I was sexually active. She brought me to a gynecologist to get examined and put on the pill, or so she told me. In the examination room she instructed the doctor to tell me that being sexually active before marriage and at my age was immoral. I will never forget the look of shock and "what the fuck are you talking about" on the poor doctor's face. He told her that his job was not to tell women about the morality of their activities and that a pastor or priest would be suitable for that purpose. Strike #1, mom.

The next time, again during high school, was when I refused to go to church. I was going through a rough patch and did not feel that church was the answer. So my mother made an appointment with the pastor of the church and drug me to his house to be saved. He talked with me outside his home, he was kind and listened to what I was going through. This is what he said:

"I wouldn't want to go to church either if I was in your position. I'd be pretty pissed off at God. I bet that to you, life is one great big shit sandwich and every day is another bite."

I wrote the shit sandwich quote down on a piece of paper and taped it to my wall. It was there for a long time, and whenever things got bad it comforted me. At least there was someone else in the world that understood how I felt. Strike #2, mom.

The last story took a good long while to complete, however it was the most beneficial thing my mother ever did for me. My mother took me to a shrink when I was about 16 years old. This woman became a surrogate mother to me. I saw her off and on until she moved to North Carolina. I still miss her. Where's the point in this, you ask? Well my mother took me to this woman to fix me and show me how wonderful my mother was and how bad I was acting. Almost ten years later, when I moved back to California in 1999, I started seeing my favorite shrink again. I was living with my mother and stepfather temporarily. My shrink was appalled. Her quote:

"I'd rather see you living on welfare than living with your mother."

Yes, my mother is THAT special. Strike #3. Now, my shrink disapproved of my mother for years. But this is the best quote I can remember. It's like the shit sandwich, something that I will never forget. So today, please think happy thoughts for me as I get saved from myself and all the evil that I do. I'll be sure to update everyone on the results.

Chicken's HNT

Okay, just this once I had to do a cute kid HNT. I promise not to do it EVER again. Or at least for a good long while. I took this picture the first night my Chicken was home. He's in his very cool loft bed from IKEA. Notice the killer tan? That's my boy! The mole on his back was the only spot on him when he was born. Now he's got freckles on his nose just like his Mommy, plus a few scattered here and there.

This evening Chicken and I went to his Open House at school to meet his new teacher and see old friends. While we were there, I ran into another mom that I wanted to beat to a bloody pulp at the end of third grade. Here's the story:

My mother decided to have an end of the year pool party for Chicken and some friends on the last day of school in June. Most of the moms we knew fairly well and they dropped their kids off at the pool (which by the way is slang for pooping), returning at the end of the party to pick them up. One mother HAD to stay and watch her twin daughters, because everyone knows that two adults cannot possibly supervise eight children in a pool. Especially when all the kids can swim very well. Oh no, it just cannot be done. And this woman who I'll call Very Protective and Smothering Bitch had to watch her kids like a hawk. And ask them if they had to go pee. HELLO?! They are nine years old. I'm pretty sure that they are potty trained and will use the restroom/pool when they have to go pee.

So I find myself in another uncomfortable situation where someone is asking me questions that I'm not wanting to answer. I must not give off the "Fuck you, leave me alone vibe" very well. Note to self, try to look meaner and less accessible. Her first question is "So... is there a Mr. Sam?" Well I'm not wearing a ring fuck face what do you think? I explain that I just got divorced. She goes deeper and deeper until she gets to the "Yes I'm 31 years old and I've been married and divorced twice and oh GOD I only have a bachelor's degree". Did I say "Fuck you bitch?" No. I just sat there. And then she really fucking pissed me off. "Well Chicken is SO well-adjusted, that's amazing considering..." the dumb cunt says.

I'm saying to myself at this point "Yeah, I can't believe the beatings and withholding of food and love and shelter haven't taken effect yet. Fuck I must try harder to make my kid dysfunctional." See, Chicken is a social butterfly. He's very loved and his biggest problem is that his self-esteem tends to be a little too high, also known as spoiled and snotty child syndrome. I'm working on that. Whereas Very Protective and Smothering Bitch has twin daughters that are a year older and one of them is really fucked up. She's sweet, but she doesn't make friends and goes home crying after school frequently. Chicken is one of the few kids that makes an effort to include her. I've seen her on field trips and most of her classmates simply ignore her. I've tried to get her and Chicken together to play outside of school but her mother is so protective that I have never seen her daughter outside school until this day. Nevermind the fact that I have chaperoned her daughter on school field trips twice. This means that her daughter has been in my car, under my supervision and has not died. Amazing!

Then Very Protective and Smothering Bitch starts to brag about her "normal" daughter and her 11th grade reading level. She asks me what grade level Chicken is reading at and I have no idea. In Chicken's school district they do this Lexile scoring weirdness. Your child takes a test, gets a Lexile score, and then goes to Lexile.com to determine the appropriate books to read. This way your child reads books that are hard enough to challenge them, but not so hard they get frustrated. I don't care what grade level he is reading at, all I care is that he's a great reader. So Mrs. Snotty Pants asks me what Chicken's Lexile score is, and I tell her 1096. Her face crumbles and she mutters "That's 11th grade level". Take that you bitch! Of course, I think that she's full of shit. I perused the books at Lexile and 1096 doesn't seem to be 11th grade level reading. Whatever.

Is there a point to this post? Well, no. I just needed vent about the Very Protective and Smothering Bitch while showing off my half-nekkid kid. Now people can search under "kiddie porn" and be just as disappointed as when they search for "hot, stories" or "animal sex". So there you perverts!

H32 Boobs

If you search Google for H32 boobs, my site comes up first. I'm a little confused about this. Number one, H3.2 doesn't have boobs. I do. However, according to several sources, those boobs aren't even fit for cuddling. What are H32 boobs? What the fuck were you looking for?

People, I've never talked about "sexy stories of people doing sex first time". That's the stupidest search I've ever seen. How about "losing virginity stories" because that at least makes sense. Maybe this person doesn't have the whole English language thing down pat yet.

Another question for you: how did you get here after searching for "stories, hot". I don't tell hot stories. I tell vulgar stories. Ask anyone.

For the final WTF entry, "sams whole". Are you looking for my HOLE? If so, you must fill out the proper request form and send it to H3.2. If you're looking for Sam's whole _____ you might want to be more specific. Like "Sam's Whole Chicken" or "Sam's Wholly Insane". Of course I don't have a whole chicken, but I could be insane. At least you would be searching in the right direction.

Wanna Quickie?

Yesterday Chicken and I fed the corn snake a pinkie. This was Chicken's first snake feeding experience. For those of you non-snake oriented people, a pinkie is a baby mouse, about 3-5 days old. A pinkie doesn't have any fur or its eyes opened yet. And it's pink. Hence the name. I bought a frozen pinkie and defrosted it in a cup of warm water. Then I grabbed the snake and put him in a large Tupperware container with the pinkie. Mr. Snake had himself a tasty treat. Later, H3.2 asked Chicken how the feeding went. His response: "It was cool. Dinner and a show." So true, Chicken Boy!

Later, Teddy Bear, H3.2 and I were watching multiple episodes of Firefly when H3.2 tried to rest his head on my breasts. I say "tried" because there's not a whole lot there for head resting as Chicken pointed out the other day. H3.2 whined to me and Teddy Bear "Why can't your breasts be soft and cuddly like Chicken's stepmom?" Oh My God. Teddy Bear chuckled. They both read my blog. Assholes.

Back To Hell

Okay I'm back. There are changes coming to Sam's Stories. First off, I've decided to refer to my kid as "Chicken" as opposed to "M". Why, you ask? Well, that's his nickname and because I just feel like it. So there. Chicken came home Sunday after spending the summer on the East Coast. I've been pretty busy doing the mommy thing, like school shopping on the week that school starts. Luckily, we're almost done and we have one more day until my baby is a big, bad-assed fourth grader. This post is dedicated to my kid and the shit he comes up with on a daily basis. I wish I could just tape record him and type it out. He cracks me up.

Chicken loves his corn snake, however he feels no pressure to name the fucking thing any time soon. Dammit kid, just name him already. I offered my favorite of "Wesson" after the corn oil, however the kid said "I don't want to name my snake after a big corporation". Fuck the Man he says! I left it to Chicken to tell my mom that I bought him a snake. My mom is not generally pet-friendly. She thinks I'm running a zoo or something. Chicken knows this, so he describes the corn snake as: "Really cute, just like a hamster but longer and without fur". The kid is going to be a used car salesman or a politician some day. He extracted a promise from her to hold the snake at least once. That kid is a miracle worker I swear!

On a "not so nice" note, Chicken cuddled up on me yesterday and noted that my breasts were much smaller than his stepmom's. He said that her breasts are soft and cuddly like his pillow. Whereas mine are... not so cuddly. Thanks. I really like his stepmom, however I don't want to hear how my breasts are crappy for cuddling. I know this dammit! At least I won't have someone grab me around the waist and cop a feel when I'm elderly. (See Coppin' A Feel for a great story on saggy boobs). So thanks, Chicken. I'm so glad you're home.

We went school clothes shopping today and Chicken got a new pair of shoes. This process usually involves heavy sedatives (for me) and ultimate frustration (for Chicken). He finds a pair he likes, and they don't have the proper size. He finds another pair that are almost as good, they have the right size, but they don't feel good on his feet. By the time we find a pair that are pleasing to the eye, in the right size, and feel good I have 3000 new gray hairs and I'm screaming "Just put the fucking shoes on and let's never do this ever again". Actually I'm screaming that on the inside, because I'm pretty sure screaming fuck at your kid in the store is not good. I save that for later. After I hide the phone so he doesn't call Child Protective Services on me.

This trip was AMAZING. He saw shoes he liked right away, then found the right size on the first try and they fit! OH MY GOD! I've had many, many experiences (think dirty) that did not compare to the joy that this brought me. Chicken and I go up to the cash register and he sees a sign that warns about hidden security devices. He starts cracking up and making fun of the lame-assed store. You see, the "hidden" security devices on shoes in this store are almost the size of tennis balls. They are fucking huge. And when you're buying kid's shoes, they take up half the shoe. Where is the "hidden" in that Chicken wants to know?

Speaking of making fun of stores, years ago I took Chicken to a Ross clothing store. Their slogan is "Dress For Less". For those of you without a Ross, they sell the clothing that didn't sell at regular department stores. I hate Ross. I could spend all day looking for something and find one shirt. Of course, it would only be $4.99. However, when you're shopping with a first grader a whole day in a store is much like spending 300 years in the darkest depths of hell. I just can't do it. My time and sanity is too valuable. Chicken feels the same way, and coined a new slogan for Ross: "Dress For Crap". That's my kid.

**Thanks to Anna for kicking my ass and getting me to post some shit for her entertainment.

A Letter To A Friend

Dear Mr. Southern Alligator Lizard,

Regarding your visit to my kitchen this morning, I have a few issues that I would like to discuss. First of all, you may not know that I quit smoking 10 weeks ago. This means that if you are going to visit my kitchen, please refrain from doing so until after I have applied my handy nicotine patch to my body and have enjoyed the refreshing rush of my addiction. Second, although your coloring might blend in with the great outdoors, it does not really shield you from detection when you are sitting on my tile floor. Third, I know all about you and your kind. You see, my cat has brought in a number of delightful visitors, and you sir are not one of them.

In the past I was a bit nervous about your kind. The Western Fence Lizard is polite and respectful when I pick him up and put him outside. However, whenever I saw a member of your family I thought you looked evil and just downright nasty. I chalked this up to lizard racism and tried to overcome this irrational fear until one day I tried to save a member of your family from certain death and was bit. You heard me, one of you fuckers bit my thumb. Hard enough to leave a mark for days. So then I did some research on your kind. I found out that Southern Alligator Lizards are fuckers and to be avoided. You have a reputation, you see. So when I use a kitchen towel to pick you up and put you outside, do NOT attempt to bite me you stupid fuck. I could kill you. Or let my cat kill you.

Now, I am not against all creatures of the outdoors. When Dude the cat brought in a fuzzy cottontail bunny I was very hospitable. When baby rats are drug in I try to make them comfortable outside my home. But you, Mr. BitTheHandThatTriesToSaveYou I have only two words: Fuck off. I hate you. Do not ever attempt to idle around in my kitchen again. Especially before my nicotine patch is applied. I have attached a picture in case you are unsure if this applies to you. You might be too stupid to know what kind of fucked up lizard you are.

Sincerely,

Sam

**Thanks to Joshua at http://jlpuhn.tripod.com for the lizard picture.

Pussy

I was wondering if anyone really noticed "Jimmy Hat" my pet kitty on the sidebar. There's a joke there. Get it? Do I have to spell it out?

Making an Ass of Yourself

First off, those fuckers at MSN decided to remove their icon from http://www.msn.com/favicon.ico. Therefore, you may have noticed that the MSN icons I had on my sidebar denoting search sites are gone. Assholes. So H3.2 is making me one and the icons will be back with or without MSN making my life easier. Although he told me that I had to yell "I like tits" in return for the favor. My head hurts so I only said it, I didn't yell it. The fucked up part of that is we were having this conversation on AIM. Which means that I didn't really have to say it out loud. How would he know? But I did it anyway. 'Cause tits ARE nice. So back to MSN. Did I call them fuckers enough? They're the ones that show my site when people search for fucked up shit. It's not my fault. Bitches. Whores. Okay I feel better.

This week I finally joined Dating Dummy for Taco Tuesday. I'd been pondering it for a while, knowing that DD lived in San Diego and had this weekly ritual of going to a local bar for tacos on Tuesday evening. I had some trouble convincing H3.2 to go with me, as he is very shy around new people. When I invited Teddy Bear and two other of H3.2's friends he finally consented. Hurray! I wore my favorite silky tank top, some hot-assed jeans and my favorite new shoes. I wouldn't want DD to tell the blogging world that I live in sweats and t-shirts dammit!

DD told me that Irresistibly Charming Girl (ICG) was going to be there and I couldn't wait to meet her! Well, I met them both and we had a great time. DD was just like his "blog" persona, charming, well-spoken, engaging, polite and funny. He is one of those guys that anyone would feel comfortable around. Even H3.2 relaxed VERY quickly and... actually spoke! Real words came out of his mouth I couldn't believe it. When DD told me that he was good with shy people I figured he had his work cut out for him with H3.2. But, damn he was good. I should take him with me every time I have to introduce H3.2 to new people. Wonder if he'd be interested in the position?

So, for all of you Dating Dummy readers that want the skinny on ICG... here is my take on the situation. The two of them had this undeniable chemistry that was almost palpable. It wasn't sexual necessarily, just a sense that the two of them were connected in an unspoken way. DD went out of his way to keep her at his side, always touching her gently on the hand, the arm or back. It was magical to see the two of them together. Although we were in a crowded bar and they were both very social with us, you could tell that part of them was far away in a place that only the two of them could visit. Who is ICG? A beautiful brunette that has captured DD's eye and .... that is all I will say.

For those of you that come here for the humor, I wasn't in top form Tuesday night. The two events of the evening that stand out in my mind were when DD introduced me as "Sam, the most vuglar person you'll ever meet" (or something to that effect) and when our waitress had a little spill. When I say "little spill" I mean a whole entire fucking tray of full beer bottles, shots, glasses and the like. She was right next to our table, one bottle got off balance and she overcorrected. I bet she's a terrible fucking driver, too. She over corrected so much that our pants ended up smelling like we went swimming in a pool of liquor. A hush fell over the bar as everyone stopped, turned and gawked. Someone had the misfortune to ask what happened to her. Was she bumped? Did she stumble? So I yell out: "She got distracted 'cause she was staring at my boobs!" Oops. I guess I said that a little louder than necessary.

Half-Nekkid Legs Thursday

It's time again for Half-Nekkid Thursday. For the scoop on this weekly tradition, see Osbasso. He's the Grand Poobah of the whole event. Weeks ago I promised to show my legs without the stockings and heels, so here they are! Notice my happy toenails? I gave myself a pedicure this week. I love my feet, they are my favorite part of my body. If they weren't my feet I would say that I had a foot fetish, however I don't think you can have a fetish for your own body part. I'm not really into other people's feet, maybe it's just that my standards are so high. Also, I LOVE to go barefoot. If I could run around without shoes I would. Except I love shoes, too. I deal with this quandary by wearing shoes out, and removing the fuckers the instant I get home. I love to drive with bare feet. Tanned, bare feet in the summertime, so sexy. Mmmmm.... feet.

Brainwashing with Fritos

I talked to the kid last night on the phone. He comes home on Sunday and I'm soooo excited. He went to church this past Sunday and said he really liked the church. They gave him Fritos. I'm sure they are brainwashing him, the Fritos are proof. Is there a point to this post? Hell yes! Here's an excerpt from our conversation:

M: I really liked the church but the songs were dorkier than usual. I would rather do the following things than ever sing those songs again:

1. Study the history of Colonial Williamsburg
2. Study the California gold rush
3. Study Greek Mythology
4. Write a novel

How does he come up with this shit? Really. He's 8! I had to have him repeat this list so I could write it down. He wanted to know what I was doing writing down our conversation. I lied. I'm such a great mom.

Holy Fuck

This is the most disturbing tattoo I have ever seen in my whole entire fucking life. This picture is not safe for mostly anyone, including those with a heart condition, small or large children, co-workers, your boss or your family members. H3.2 sent me this link: Dragon Tattoo.

Update August 31, 2005: It has been brought to my attention this link no longer shows a tattoo/piercing on a penis. It's um... really yucky now. Still warrants the holy fuck title.

Three-Toed Sloth

I've added a "You Searched For:" list on my sidebar to illustrate what people are searching for when they randomly end up on my site. I will add to the list as new ones appear. The most popular search by far is beastiality stories. Of course, by typing it once again I'll increase my chances that I end up on the #1 spot when people search MSN for this topic. Great! As it is, I show up on the first page. I will also include icons to show you which search engine was used. That was H3.2's idea and he wants the credit for it. I won't tell you how many times the search was used because I'm sloth-like. Meaning I'm lazy and slow moving with long, sharp claws. Not to be taken as I shit in trees. And no, moss does not grow on my back. If you're not sure what the fuck I'm talking about then you probably aren't familiar with the three-toed sloth. However, I have a fun sloth story for you to enjoy!

I was about M's age and on a road trip with my mother and her boyfriend. I was reading about three-toed sloths for some insane reason. I read a part out loud that I didn't quit understand. You see, this particular type of sloth lives almost all of its life in trees. They don't even climb down to take a shit. So I read to my mother a part that didn't make any sense to me:

"The three-toed sloth empties its bowls in trees"

I wanted to know what the fuck sloths did with bowls and what was in the bowls. I was imaging oatmeal. She begins to laugh hysterically and explains that the word is BOWELS. Oh. Ever since, sloths have been the epitome of laziness to me. I mean, I'm damn lazy. If I could sleep and eat all day every day I probably would. However, I would make time to take a shit. I would never shit the bed. Maybe an hour devoted to reading and writing. Another hour for the kid. Twenty minutes for H3.2. Wait. That's not enough time for food and sleep. I'll have to rethink this strategy later. Right now, I'm burning up my hour for reading/writing. By the way, on the food front, I had a lovely sushi dinner tonight and thought of Anna. Mmmmm..... Sushi.

***Edit: I've also added a "Home" link on the sidebar to make navigation easier.

Gay Story #2

For those of you that missed my first Gay Story, the same disclaimers hold true. For those of you that refuse to scroll down, here's a reprint:

1. For those of you that don't like gay people, think being gay is a personal choice and think that God will smite "those people" bloody some day, please stop reading. Actually, you don't ever have to read this blog again. Really. I'm serious.

2. For those of you that think the title "Gay Story" means that I'm using the lately popular term "gay" to mean stupid or lame, you are wrong. I'm actually talking about stories that involve, (gasp!) gay people. That is, for you inbred morons out there, people that love and have intimate relationships with the same sex. Now, I'm not gay, so if you are and I'm screwing this definition up, I'm sorry. Feel free to enlighten me.

My son called me the other day to tell me about his new haircut. The last time he got a haircut while staying with his dad my poor child looked like he was about to go to boot camp. As school is starting in a week and a half, I don't want my kid to look like a moron. M reassured me that he had gotten a normal "boy" cut and it looked fine. That's when the conversation turned weird.

M: "The guy that cut my hair put green gel in it and spiked it up in the front. He was gay."

Sam: "What?!"

Earlier in the summer M had heard his step-sister use the word "gay" as a derogative term (see disclaimer #2) and then M used it on the phone with me to describe a video game. I chewed his ass over that one. As my child is the ultimate hair product hater I assumed he was using it in the same manner. I started to go off again when he stopped me.

M: "No Mommy, I mean like actually gay. But then he wouldn't have a job then, would he?"

Sam: "What are you talking about?"

M: "Well, because being gay is illegal so of course he wouldn't be able to have a job."

Sam: "M, it is not illegal and he can have a job. We'll talk about it when you get home."

So now I have a dilemma and I'm really confused. M and I have had many talks about all different types of people. I have taught him that we are all people, no matter what we look like or who we love or what religion we practice. He does know about the fight for gays and lesbians to have the right to marry as we listen to NPR in the car frequently and we have discussed the issue at length. He doesn't understand why it is not legal for any consenting adult to marry another. So he might be confused and equate illegal to marry with illegal to BE gay. And, yes I am aware that certain acts are illegal in certain places. But I'm not about to go there with an 8 year old.

My other thought is that he has talked to his dad about this topic. His father's feeling on homosexuality is that it is "an abomination in the eyes of God". Yes, that is a direct quote. Please don't comment "Why the fuck would you marry this guy?" because I didn't know about his loving view of mankind before we got married. Read this post for background on my marriages. It is possible that good ole dad told M that being gay is illegal. I don't know.

Is my kid confused or being fed crap by his redneck anti-everyone that is not white and heterosexual and Christian and not a chain smoking while the kids are in the car father? Sorry Redneck Diva for the redneck comment. I'm sure there are good and bad rednecks just like any other segment of the population. Okay, I just lied there. You're the only good redneck I ever met/didn't meet but read some stuff online that makes me think that you're a good redneck. Whew. So, I have to talk to the kid when he gets home next Sunday. Hopefully he was just confused and not programmed by evil rednecks.

Speaking of husbands, here's a short exchange between Teddy Bear and I (on AIM) that I thought was fairly amusing. Please excuse grammar, spelling and generally fucking over of the English language. It's AIM. And I know it's juvenile to get excited about dating someone for five months. But I'm an immature schoolgirl when it comes to H3.2. Actually I'm just immature.

Sam: man wants to take me out for anniversary
Sam: it was yesterday and we both forgot
Sam: cause we sux like that
TB: ahh
Sam: 5 months!!
TB: dizamn
TB: almost time to get married!
Sam: ew!!
Sam: marriage evil
TB: you just say that because you've ruined 2 of them

Gay Story #1

Let me begin by making two disclaimers:

1. For those of you that don't like gay people, think being gay is a personal choice and think that God will smite "those people" bloody some day, please stop reading. Actually, you don't ever have to read this blog again. Really. I'm serious.

2. For those of you that think the title "Gay Story" means that I'm using the lately popular term "gay" to mean stupid or lame, you are wrong. I'm actually talking about stories that involve, (gasp!) gay people. That is, for you inbred morons out there, people that love and have intimate relationships with the same sex. Now, I'm not gay, so if you are and I'm screwing this definition up, I'm sorry. Feel free to enlighten me.

First Story

In December of 2004 I used Craig's List to search for a roommate. My first reply was from someone we will call Taylor. Taylor's description at the bottom of the email was:

SWF, 25, Network Administrator

I took this to mean that Taylor (a name that can be used for a boy or a girl) was a girl, single, white, female aged 25 that worked as a network administrator. Due to my profession, I know roughly what the job pays. So this sounded like a good prospect to me. We exchanged a few emails, during which Taylor asked if having girlfriends occasionally spend the night was okay. So Taylor is a lesbian. It didn't bother me, but I asked my son (he's 8) about his feelings. Here's how the conversation went:

Sam: M, I might have found a roommate, however I need to find out how you would feel about having a girl roommate that likes other girls.

M: You mean she's gay?

Sam: Yes.

M: Cool, is she going to have a bunch of hot girls come over to the house?

Sam: M! Number one, you are 8 years old. Number two, the girls will be gay. Which means that even if they liked 8 year olds, they wouldn't like you!

M: (crestfallen) Oh. That sounds fine to me.

So I plan to meet Taylor at Starbucks. I don't want to have random people come to my house and I want to keep myself and my son safe. Taylor describes herself to me so I can recognize her. "Tan cargo pants, white t-shirt and short brown hair". So Taylor is butch. If that is offensive, I'm sorry I don't know how else to describe it. Mind you, we have not yet spoken on the phone, this is all through email. And through the emails I have enjoyed her sense of humor and her style of writing. So I'm liking her already.

I show up at Starbucks and order a Mocha Frap, decaf, grande. My order has nothing to do with this story, just wanted to let you know my drink of choice at that time. I wait for my potential roommate. I get bored. I sit down. This random guy approaches me and I get ready to brush him off when I notice what he is wearing. Oh my God! Taylor is a boy.

I sit down and I'm speechless. This does not happen very often. I look at him. I look pointedly at his crotch, and say "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting a penis". I swear I really said this! We talked for a bit, realizing that the SWF was a typo and it should have been SWM. It was a start to a beautiful relationship. May I introduce you to .... H3.2. Who was supposed to be a lesbian. Who definitely likes women, but has a penis. A very nice one. And that's all I'll say about that.

Tribute To Disgusting Girl HNT

As a tribute to Disgusting Girl and Madman's blog about his daily struggle with her I give you this weeks Half-Nekkid Thursday creation. I have this peculiar talent that was passed to me from my dear dad. I can bloat out my belly at will, looking like a very pregnant chick. H3.2 is totally freaked out by this. If you haven't seen a HNT of mine before, imagine your girlfriend that usually wears a size 2 with a belly that looks like she is six months pregnant. One of his friends, known here as Teddy Bear is the only other "real" person that reads my blog. He saw my talent one day and said "That's next weeks HNT!"

I added the wife beater, ill-fitting bra (they look bigger in the picture than they are in real life) and bottle of Everclear to achieve the DG effect. Some of you may wonder how I acquired a bottle of Everclear AKA grain alcohol here in sunny California where it is not legal to sell it. The honest answer: I have no fucking idea. I rarely drink and I didn't even know I owned it. One day someone was looking through my alcohol and brought it to my attention. It may have belonged to H2 or left by a previous renter. It's a mystery to me. Kind of like the Disgusting Girl. Is she really that smelly? Can you smell her cooch from several yards/miles away? I digress, onto HNT...

Notice how my shorts and tank top don't quite meet? That was my crowning achievement in this picture. For those of you that don't know what I'm talking about, you must see Madman's blog. For the highly apathetic, Disgusting Girl is a pregnant, smelly, drinking, smoking, white trash co-worker of his. I would have added a cigarette to the picture, however I quit smoking so you'll have to imagine it. Enjoy!

Ding Dong! The Witch is Dead!

Zada, my beloved/hated cunt of a cat is gone. No, she's not dead. H2 finally took her with him to D.C. today. I loaded her up on kitty downers (prescribed of course), picked up H2 and dropped them off at the airport. I will miss that damn cat. For simplicities sake I've made a list of what I won't miss:

• The plastic tarp on my couch to keep her from peeing on it
• The peeing on my bed phase
• The peeing in the dining room phase
• The many, many dead/dying small animals that she brought into my house
• The copious amounts of vomit/bile/fur that she would throw up in my son's room
• The "butt funk" (please don't ask)
• The destruction of my duvet cover
  
• The bitchy way she treated my beloved Dude (see pic)

I found her under a truck in a parking lot of a grocery store that used to be named "Lucky's". Her name means "lucky" because she's lucky I brought her tiny, dirty ass home and took care of her. She was estimated to be 8 weeks old when I brought her to the vet, and she just turned 4 years old this summer. Goodbye Zada. I will miss you, but I'm so damn happy that you're gone. As a tribute, here are a couple of Zada pictures. The gray and white cat getting his ass beaten is my Dude. He's a pacifist.














A. Zada kisses Dude goodbye.

B. Zada kicks his ass once last time for luck.

C. Both cats enjoying catnip.

Zada with pupils blown all to hell. I tried out the kitty "downers" before the flight to see how she would react and what dosage was needed. She was one stoned kitty cat. H3.2 found her hiding under his bed and brought her into the living room and dropped her on the floor. When I say "dropped" please don't be confused with dropping an average cat 2 feet onto the floor, in which case said cat would land on all fours and spring into action. In this case, H3.2 forget how fucked up Zada was and "dropped" is more akin to dropping a 13 pound rock onto the floor. Oops. I don't think he meant it.

Goodbye dearest Zadacunt. I hope you enjoy H2 more than I did.

Searching for Porn

I've seen posts where bloggers list the searches that brought readers into their blogs. I never thought that my blog would come up on a random search, however I've seen some incoming links that blew me away. Who are you people? Were you disappointed when you ended up at my lame blog? Here's what some of you were searching for:

• herpes relationships
• tales of a lyer
  
• hair fetish stories
• trophy lounge in San Diego, Ca
• beastiality stories

Now, I understand the herpes because I did make a reference to it in a recent post. For the record, I don't have herpes. Nor am I in a herpes relationship. As for the "tales of a lyer" search, there is no such word as "lyer". I know I had a comment that used the word, however it does NOT exist. The word is liar. As in someone that tells lies. I'll use it in a sentence for you "You're a big, fat, poopy-headed liar". For all of you out there that are big, fat and poopy-headed but not liars, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you were.

Hair fetish stories I don't understand. I posted a HNT pic that included my hair. My blog is Sam's Stories. Did I talk about having a fetish? I don't remember. The Trophy Lounge is a total mystery. I've never even been there. It's in National City (here in San Diego area) and I avoid National City at all costs. It's better known as Nasty City. If you live there, I'm sure you're a great person. Really. Great.

Beastiality stories I understand totally. I talked about that extensively in a post. I'd like to make it very clear though- I've never had sex of any kind with an animal. Although my cat Dude is DAMN sexy.

Red Plastic Cups

Ewe girl invited me to a party last night. One of her coworkers was having a bash. Now, Ewe Girl is 24 and I'm 31. She's like my little sister. I love her dearly. The party was scheduled to begin at 9pm, and I received a phone call from Ewe Girl at 7pm. She said that the location of the party had been moved. The little sister of the party thrower had threatened to tell the guy's parents (he still lives at home) if he had a party. At this point I lost total control of myself and laughed hysterically for about ten minutes. I laughed until my face hurt. As Ewe Girl was with the party thrower and he could hear me laughing, I didn't earn any brownie points there. He was kind of pissed. I guess having someone you've never met laugh their ass off at you and your lame ass doesn't feel good. I felt bad, but not bad enough to stop laughing.

I arrive at the new party location and quickly notice the prevalence of red plastic cups. I was instantly taken back to parties of days gone by, and reminded of Anna's last post at Anna Land. She had talked about being older, lamer and simply just past the red plastic cup time in her life. I thought I was too. And by the end of the night, I realized that even though there were some high points to the party, doing keg stands is just not sexy.

Ewe Girl had told all of her coworkers that I was crude/vulgar/funny/etc. So of course I had to live up to my reputation. I wowed the partygoers with my sparkling wit and classic good looks. Actually, they were just amazed at the filth that was pouring out of my mouth. Throughout the night the cries of "tell us another story Sam" echoed throughout the backyard. Seriously. You have to love the ego boost that you get by thoroughly amazing a bunch of drunk 23 year old boys. 'Cause they're a pretty tough crowd, let me tell you.

At one point, this drunk guy crosses the line and asks me to rub his feet. WTF?! I made it abundantly clear that I had a man at home and I was not about to go dumpster diving at this party. I was there for amusement value only. Here's how the conversation went:

Drunk Guy: Hey, rub my feet Sam. (offers foot without shoe on it)

Sam: Um. I don't rub a guy's foot unless he goes down on me first. Since that is NOT happening, you're out of luck.

Drunk Guy: (not getting it) Okay baby, let's go!

Sam: Well, then while you're down there, would you mind telling me how my boyfriend's cum tastes?

Stunned silence. Then everyone bursts out laughing at this poor drunk fool. Yeah, I rock. I stayed until I saw some poor guy doing a keg stand and then I left. I drank two Cokes on the rocks and a cup of water. All out of red plastic cups. Here's to you, Anna!

Our New Baby

Well, H3.2 and I added to our wonderful family today. We're the proud parents of a baby Albino Cornsnake, a baby boy born/hatched 6.17.05. We have no idea what to name it, so I'm relying on my blogger buddies to come up with something fitting. We purchased Baby Snake as a surprise for my kid, he's wanted a snake forever. When he comes home at the end of the month he's going to be so stoked!

Balls

Have I mentioned that H3.2 is my roommate? Not like we live in a room together. Like, he rented a room from me. One thing led to another, and now he's H3.2. I've told stories about how sweet he is and how talented he is...like LOOK at my blog!! However, I've never related a story about his sense of humor.

Yesterday I got home from work before H3.2 did, so I stripped the sheets off of his bed and washed them. Just to be sweet. He came home while I was blogging (what are the odds of that?!) and went upstairs to change. I was so engrossed in my post that I didn't even notice what he was doing until I felt him standing on the couch behind me. Then I got lost into my post again (big surprise) until I felt something on my head.

Sam: What the fuck are you doing? Are you resting your balls on my head?

H3.2: (snickers) Yes. (balls still on my head)

Sam: Why are your balls on my head?

H3.2: Why not?

Oh my God! I get up and realize that he is putting his boxers onto his hot body. He had his bare sack on my head.

Sam: You go upstairs, realize that I stripped your bed and washed your sheets, and you don't even thank me. You set your balls on my head. WTF?

H3.2: That was my way of saying "Thank You". And I was going to put them on your shoulder but the height wasn't right.

That's my man. Don't you love a guy that says "Thank you" by putting his nuts on your head? He's a keeper.

Vulgar, Spontaneous and Dark

I hate taking personality tests. I think they suck. However, there is always an exception to any rule. Like "if you keep touching yourself there you will go blind". Ha!! I am not blind. My vision is so bad that I don't qualify for corrective surgery, but I know it has nothing to do with that. I took this 3 Variable Funny Test at OKCupid! and I almost peed my pants when I read the results:

---

your humor style:
VULGAR | SPONTANEOUS | DARK

Your sense of humor is off-the-cuff and kind of gross. Is it is also sinister, cynical, and vaguely threatening to the purer folks of this world. You probably get off on that. You would cut a greasy fart, then blame it on your mom, and then just shrug when someone pointed out that she's dead.
Yours is hands-down the most outrageous sense of humor; you like things trangressive and hardcore. It's highly likely (a) you have no limits (b) you have no scruples and (c) you have no job.

---

What can I say?

Sam's Guide To Sex and Ex's

Today H2 and I went to the DMV to get the title on my car changed over to my name. We have a fairly good relationship these days, and we only spent 45 minutes at the DMV to complete a five minute transaction. Not bad for state government, huh? We carpooled to the DMV and we both wanted Starbucks on the way back to his place. There is a Starbucks nearby that has a drive-thru. The epitome of American laziness, drive-thru coffee. I love it. I'm so damn lazy that if this was a just world I would weigh 500 pounds. As I pull into the parking lot of Starbucks, we have a wonderful exchange that instantly reminded me why H2 is my EX-husband.

H2: "Ooohhh bagels. Hey, do you want to get a bagel and some coffee?"

Sam: "Uh. (stunned silence) I'm allergic to wheat."

H2: (laughs) "Oh yeah."

Can you fucking believe this shit? I found out that I can't have wheat over two years ago. We filed for divorce in November 2004. You would think he would remember something as important as I CAN'T EAT WHEAT. That's like forgetting that your spouse has a third testicle or some shit. What The Fuck?!

To contrast this event, let me tell you about my first "real" date with H3.2. He went online, researched San Diego restaurants that offered gluten-free food (no wheat) and took me out to dinner. For those of you that like to eat great steak, you've probably heard of the place, Ruth's Chris, AKA foodgasm. He made reservations, told me how dressy the evening was going to be and surprised me with a great dinner. He knew every item on the menu that I was able to eat. It was the most romantic dinner of my whole life. He was kind, thoughtful, and he stared into my eyes the whole evening. *sigh*

For all of you men out there, here are some tips for an awesome date:

*Disclaimer: If this is a first date, as in you don't really know each other, stop right here. Otherwise you will look creepy and desperate.

1. Make reservations. This is where you call a restaurant ahead of time and tell them that you are coming. It shows a capability to plan ahead and be thoughtful. It does not count if you call two hours before your date and make a reservation for 10:30pm. That gives you negative points for being a dumb-assed loser.

2. Pick a restaurant that requires some dressing up. Not like "Naughty Nurse" or "Bad Cop" dressing up you perverts! Girls like to feel pretty and sexy sometimes. Some more than others. Do not forget to tell her that you are going to a nice place. Nothing pisses off a woman more than showing up at a nice restaurant in sweats.

3. Put away the faded jeans and running shoes. Shave your damn face. Put some product in your hair. I do not mean your hair can be used as a runway for heavy aircraft. Just a little dab is fine. Wear clean clothes. Do NOT use the sniff test.

4. Open the door for her. THE WHOLE EVENING. Order a decent bottle of wine. If you don't understand wine, ask the server what they would recommend. That way you don't look like a moron. Oh, and don't drink the whole bottle by yourself. You do not get points for the most consumption. This is not a frat party.

5. Pay for Valet parking. Come on, it's only a few bucks more and she doesn't have to walk 1/2 mile in heels. It's a small price to pay to get some nookie points.

6. During dinner, ask her questions. The follow is a list of do's and don'ts for questions on this romantic evening:

Do's

• If you could accomplish one thing in your life, what would it be?
• What is your happiest memory?
• What is your favorite thing to do?
• If we could leave here and fly anywhere in the world, where would you want to go?

Don'ts

• Ever watch Deep Throat?
• Do you swallow?
• How do you feel about two girls together?
• Are those real?
• Have you ever put out on a first date?
• Can I wear your panties?

With these helpful tips in mind, you should be able to sweep your woman off her feet. However, if you have a "I'm gonna get laid for this" look on your face all night, you won't. Oh, and pay for the dinner, cheapskate. It will be worth it.

Half-Nekkid New Blog Look Thursday

How do you like me now? H3.2 and I conspired together to create a stunning new blog layout. My input is on the left. See how creative I am? H3.2 took my design and WOW! I love it. He doesn't really care for it. He's a perfectionist. That's why he's with me. 'Cause I'm perfect. To add to the spectacular new look I've also added a pic of my purdy face. Or part of it. That's close enough, right? I'm so tired after my day that I am barely coherent right now. However, I've got it together enough to participate in HNT. Thanks Osbasso! Luckily for me I had this one stashed under my porno mags. Happy Half-Nekkid Thursday everyone!



Note: For those of you that remember my first HNT leg shot, this picture was taken at the same time. So if you add the two together, you get me. Almost. Just headless. So add my profile pic and you have half a face. So now you know exactly, kinda, sorta what I look like.

I Have a Venereal Disease

Actually, it's far worse than that. I've been tagged by Redneck Diva. I think a nice outbreak of herpes right now would be more enjoyable. Festering sores and all.. Or so they tell me. So here are my lame-assed answers. But first, a question: What the fuck is a meme?

Five Light Reads:

1. Daddy’s Roommate by Michael Willhoite. A picture book for kids explaining that dad is gay and in love with his roommate.
2. Forever by Judy Blume. A novel about teens embarking on sexual relationships, Forever (published in 1975) was one of the first books in which teenage sexual activity did not result in such "punishments" as unplanned pregnancy, a dangerous illegal abortion, or death.
3. The New Joy of Gay Sex by Charles Silverstein. Classic guide to gay male sex.
4. Deenie by Judy Blume. Deenie is one of author Judy Blume's most banned books due to its non-graphic, yet straightforward, depiction of masturbation.
5. Women on Top: How Real Life Has Changed Women’s Fantasies by Nancy Friday. Collection of women’s sexual fantasies, with the theme of dominance.

By the way, all of these books and descriptions I found at about.com. They are five of the top fifteen most banned sex books, not in any particular oder. I've only read the two Judy Blume books and she has three on the top fifteen. She's really cranking out the filth. Go Judy! The rest of the books are on boring things like puberty and what to expect from your body. I guess the townsfolk get real fired up about teaching their sons and daughters about things like menstruation and nocturnal emissions. Because if you don't talk about them with your kids, they won't happen. Ever. Your kid could be like Peter Pan and always play with other "Lost Boys". Hmm... even that sounds like something that should be banned. Down with sex education, up with unplanned teen pregnancies and sexually transmitted disease. Hurray for my herpes. Oops. That kind of just slipped in there.

Five Reads To Make Me Think:
Think about what? I'm changing this one to "Five books I have on my bookshelf".

1. East of Eden by John Steinbeck: I read East of Eden in high school for the first time. I've read it many times since. It has to be one of my favorite books of all time. I hated the Grapes of Wrath.
2. Imajica by Clive Barker: Bizarre, twisted and wonderful, just like me. But on steroids.
3. A Hearbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers: I liked this book, not the greatest and certainly not genius; however his thoughts on raising his brother I could totally understand.
4. Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson: Great geek fantasy book. I own several of his works.
5. Bastard out of Carolina by Dorothy Allison: I read this in college and I will never forget it. The movie does not do it justice.

Five Songs Which Turn Me On:

1. Band: Tool Album: Undertow Song: Prison Sex
2. Band: Nine Inch Nails Album: The Downward Spiral Song: Closer
3. Band: Nine Inch Nails Album: The Purest Feeling Song: The Only Time

I'm just going to stop here before I dig myself any deeper. The first choice is self-explanatory. Who doesn't enjoy some light-hearted prison sex? If you know the second choice, you're smiling or gagging right now. And the third choice reminds me of someone long ago.

Five Best Movie Dramas:

I'd like to take a moment to explain my abhorrence of favorites. I've never liked to choose favorites. In fact I didn't have a favorite color until second grade. All my classmates had favorite colors and I was tired of being asked "What's your favorite color?" by some snot-nosed moron. So I picked yellow. It's not a girl color, not a common favorite, and it can express a variety of emotions. I'll never change it because that would require thought about favorites. Which I despise. I am only doing this dastardly thing out of respect for the Redneck Diva, she of Miss (Some Letters Here) fame. I will never do another favorites list again. I may someday do a "Few Things About Me" post, which will likely include more stories about my bowel movement history. Good times.

I Killed The Bathroom

*Disclaimer: If you are offended, disgusted, repulsed, or nauseated by poop, descriptions of bowel movements, bathrooms or feces in general do NOT read this post. Also, if you have a fecal fetish, please don't read this because that grosses me out.

My loyal readers already know that I felt crappy on Monday. What you didn't know was that I meant it literally. I had an upset tummy. Some of you may know that I have issues with wheat, and occasionally I eat out at restaurants and eat hidden forms of wheat. Wheat is everywhere. Like imitation crab. I won't give you the full list of what I can't eat, because this post would take years to write. Let's just say that I avoid wheat, or more specifically gluten. Gluten is the protein component of wheat, rye and barley. Okay, even I'm bored. There is a point here. I suffer from tummy issues. Avoiding wheat = happy tummy. Eating wheat = unhappy tummy. Got it? Good. Now onto today's events.

I had an appointment at the doctor's office earlier today. I was early, because I'm anal and I'm always early to appointments. The receptionist at this office is very chatty. We are talking and my tummy starts rumbling. Bad sign. My appointment time arrives, the doctor is ready and I start to discuss the reason for my visit. Tummy rumbles again. Two minutes into the appointment I bolt for the bathroom.

I must say that this is a small doctor's office. With one small bathroom, located in between where the receptionist/nurse sits and the doctor's office. I rush into the bathroom and have the more horrid, foul-smelling diarrhea e