It's Always About The Strippers

So...I've not blogged in some time. For many reasons. One part is that I've just not been feeling the funny. Life is pissing me off. It's hard to be vulgar and funny and when you're just not feeling it. Okay....I'm feeling the vulgarity...but not the funny. Whatever.... Another part is that Donna writes about dogs fucking and all other types of nonsense and really....who can compete with that? Honestly...what can I possibly write about that would topple that mound of insanity?

So....I'll just write about my daily life and hope it at least entertains a person or three....so here it goes.

My day started out with my friend Foti....a.k.a. Fake Date Foti...He's like, well, the guy who invites me out to events that his regular trampy girls can't clean up well enough for. Me? I'll doll up....extend a hand...behave myself...and then all is good. EVERYONE needs a fake date....and I'm your girl.

So Foti was experiencing his first trip on the South Shore Train line to Chicago...he was off to his first game ever at Wrigley Field. So looking forward to it -- and what happened? Well the train hit a car....he calls me at approximately 9-ish and says...."Nance...I'm looking out of the window of the train...and the ass of the car is under the train car. You may have to drive me to Chicago."

My response? No fucking way...get a shuttle..unless there is a promise of dinner and a handsome man involved at the end of this journey...I'm SO not on this journey.

In the interim, my son Jack called. He's 16...working in Chicago half of the week as a life guard and living my nephew. Here's the deal: Jack: "Mom...I just got hit by a car." Me: "Ummmm Jack...shut the fuck up...that's not funny."

Bottom line is that he broke ONE TOE. ONE!!! Who in the hell gets hit by a car and only breaks one toe....What the Fuck...

So Foti...He sat for 2 hours on the unmoving train....and eventually got on his merry way......arrived in Chicago ..... And then...

He called and said he wanted to go to a strip club...and would I find one for him as he doesn't know Chicago at all. Sooooo....being the good Fake Girlfriend that I am? What did I do? I GOOGLED this shit...I googled strip clubs....I looked at pics of naked strippers...I determined that some are better than others....and then chose one for Foti....the most expensive one...cuz I'm a bitch and Foti needs to appreciate what I do....damnit!!!

It'a been a stressful day...but in the end? It's always about strippers...

Libby

Talk about a heartbreak.

Losing a puppy exactly 48 hours after you got her.

A sweet, 12 week old black lab with paws the size of hockey pucks and long legs any girl would dream of.

Gone. But not forgotten.

A friend saved her from the streets and I welcomed her into my heart. A heart that had been closed to the idea of having another puppy in my life. I opened my heart for Libby...and God took her home. I was meant to give that dog the best 48 hrs of her short life. She was meant to find me to help me realize that I am ready for a 4 legged bundle of joy. My heart has been opened.

I will always remember that sweet Libby.

Was Jesus a drunk?

Just when I thought I have seen or heard just about anything, I was proven wrong when I attended a festival thrown by my church. A Catholic church. A Catholic church across the street from my neighborhood. Ran by carnies that obviously aren't from this side of the tracks.

Let's talk about the appearance of a traveling festival carnie, shall we? Jorts seem to be the pants of choice. And I don't mean those ridiculous jean shorts that men wear with socks and sneakers and Nascar t-shirts or tucked in golf shirts and belts....I'm talking about the jean "capris" that boys wear that are usually hanging down so half of their boxer-clad ass is showing. Usually, there's some grafitti-looking logo on the back pocket of a dragon or a tiger or something and then that pocket has a chain that is attached to their wallet or maybe a nipple, or God forbid, their pecker. Usually black sneakers and tatted up legs complete the ensemble....someone I'm hoping action-packed NEVER brings home to meet me. The chicks look like they've been rode hard and put away wet. Usually, with a tattoo inching up their neck from inside the collar of their uniform shirts. I spoke to 3 chic-carnies...and they were all smoking Newports. Newports and jorts...wow, they rhyme.

So, action-packed decided she wanted to ride on the carousel....We handed the carnie 2 tickets, and she jumped on a horse. The carnie flipped a switch, and off action-packed went. At this time, the carnie noticed my sexy stocking I wear to keep swelling down. I told her my story, and she pulls up the pant leg on her tapered mom-jeans to show me her scar on the top of her foot...(I should add she was wearing flip flops and that her feet were the color of dirt)...."You still taken the pain pills?" Uh, you talking to me? "I'm still taking the vicidin, even after 2 years....I just keep getting them because my boyfriend likes to crush them up and snort it. I have to hide my purse from him cuz he'll take all of my shit and not leave anything for me. I stills got pain. You stills got pain?" (at this point I am wondering why in the fuck people like her think I want to talk to them) "My boyfriend is a fucking spic. Those fucking spics are thieves. He takes my drugs. He has an addiction problem. I's don't know why I don't kick him to the curb. Shiiittt, he rocks Momma's bed all night...those spics fuck like rabbits. Good and fast." Huh? Huh?

So, action-packed is off the horse and running across the grass to the choo-choo train. All righty, all aboard. I swear she isn't 5 feet away from me and this female carnie sees the sign I must have written across my forehead that reads: "Tell me your shit...I wanna know" She starts by talking about how quiet festival is for a Saturday night...and I made the mistake of asking if Friday night was more crowded. "This fucking 'n' (now, I am going to jump in here to tell you that she used the 'n' word in whole...and as much of a non-filtered vulgar person you all think I am, I refuse to use that word, and even typing 'n' bothers me, but....) took my purse and ran off with it. And I was yellin at that fuckin 'n' to drop my fuckin purse, I had my cigs and mys money in that damn purse. Fuckin' 'n'...they're all thieves..." (I was going to tell her that spics fuck like rabbits, but decided to bite my lip) "My bosses kid ran after him and got my purse....all my cigs were in there...." At this point, I decided to go to the beer tent....

So all of us school parents and alums and friends of the beloved principal that retired, are all in the tent sporting green and waiting for her "toast/roast" to begin. The priest (um, I so shouldn't type this...but, uh, nobody likes the priest) is standing on the stage saying a prayer and half of the people in the tent are ignoring him....Which I find funny. Hey we all know I'm going to hell...so he throws his hands up in disgust and walks off the stage...which, Thank God another parent noticed and asks if I saw that or I would have thought I was dreaming...then, the toasting begins for KB, and people would not shut up in the back of the tent...SOOOO...unfiltered-mouth turns around and yells "Shush!"...which helped, of course, and then I clearly noticed it was the priest talking. (I'm going to hell, remember?) And at this point, I notice he's downing plastic cups of red wine....great. Was Jesus a drunk? I don't think so?

I drag my kid out of there, and as we are driving home down our street...we notice a gaggle of people walking through my neighborhood. I am like half-tempted to roll window down and tell them to stay home...but it IS a fundraiser afterall, so I just wave and smile. I hope none of them stole a carnie's purse or bought the priest a drink...oh, who am I kidding? I hope they did...and then went home and fucked like rabbits high on vicidin.

Ummmm....Okay...Donna (a.k.a. "sunshine") has been on a roll.....a roll that I've totally expected of her. Me? Not so much....not feeling a theme for the blog...not feeling the funny....but whatever...my life is a bit a of mess so why not laugh.

So....I'm currently single...kids away on a vacation with their dad who always shows them a good time.... Can I write -- as Donna does -- about vibrators, ugly dog sex, diagonal sleeping husbands and gargling snores? Absolutely not..although I have experience (huge, pages of experieece with it...).....Here's what I can discuss..

#1 I need a book called "Dating for Dummies"....Thinking I may have a sign above my head...that only I don't see...that screams
"SINGLE" .....while not a bad thing, I'm not sure what to do with it. Creepy guys....wierd requests...Just not sure how this all happened....

#2 Told my long-time hair sytlist to "go for it"...and now Im a blond...and rocking a puerto rican tan...because I can...is this a good thing? Most likely no....but I'm still going to go for it. Cuz it's ALL about me...

#3 While I appreciate the good wishes and nonsense that ensues...let's be clear: I've not been playing checkers for the last several months....have you all not gotten the memo? Let's be clear once and for all: until further notice...it's all about me...

#4 It's all about me...have I mentioned that? Just checking...Come the end of the summer it'll change...but for now?....


Let's be clear.....It's all about me...and it needs to be that way...and too bad if you don't like it...if so...I'll see you later rather than sooner...

N-

As Seen on TV...

Aviator man has decided that I am not entitled to a good night's sleep. I don't know who died and left him the sleep-decider person....but he's about to be introduced to his new sleeping digs: sofa city. Snoring. He has been snoring. And sleeping diagonally. I don't know which is worse. He sleeps on his back, without a pillow (they're in a heap on the floor between the bed and the nighstand, WTF?) and gargle-snores. SOOOO irritating. So I nudge him. About 6 times one night. And then he looks right at me and makes some pissy remark at me. Listen, aviator man, I'm not the one gargling while lying diagonally in our bed. Geesh.

So, I'm one of those that after I've been disruptly woken up...I can't go back to sleep. So I stare at the ceiling. Or check my iPhone. Or I crutch myself to the bathroom....but mainly I end up turning on the boob tube. And then I get sucked in. Shit.

Infomercials. Worst invention EVER! Usually the oddest products. Usually end up at Bed, Bath & Beyond with an "as seen on tv" sticker on the front of the box. Ok, so I really was concerned that someone had slipped me some sort of hallucenagin (sp?) before I fell asleep the other night....I saw a commercial for some sort of chopping device called "Slap Chop". It's this chopper thing that you can use to chop onions, nuts, etc....and not have to use a knife and if you act now, you will get bendable cutting rubber thingy, so you can fold and slip chopped items into pot or plate, etc....oh, and if you REALLY act now you'll get not one, but TWO of these fuckers PLUS a grating thing for cheese...It gets better....the guy doing the info is the ass wipe from downunder that wears the headgear microphone (Oh, I don't know, a reg clip on mic doesn't work for him?) that has replaced that hyper fuck, Billy Mays. (RIP khaki pant, blue shirt wearing cokehead?) So this ass wipe is promoting the "Slap Chop"...and some high school intern whose daddy owns the company decided to "funk" up the commercial a bit....he decides to turn it into a fucking club remix..."slap your troubles away..." "watch this" Oh, fuck me.

Have you seen Booty Pop? Do you know what these are? Panties with padding on the ass...yes, I said it "ass padding"....So, you're at a club...and some guy is noticing your lucious rump...you hook up, you go home with him, you undress in front of him...and wa-la...you gots a flat ass! He's gonna kick you out to the curb. This is worse than a padded bra.

The Magic Bullet. I have to tell you the truth about this product. So, I had never seen this infomercial before. I had no idea what the product was. 4 or 5 Christmases ago, I was opening presents at my Mom and Step Dad's house. My mom has this big grin on her face and hands me this large, rectangular box. She's all excited and says "Look at what McGuyver got you!" (We call my step dad that because he is always fixing shit with bread wire twisty things and duct tape, but in a good way) "He got me one, too!" So I start ripping the paper off...and I see this big white box with the words "Magic Bullet" written across the front of it. Now, I should also add the fact that my step dad is from Germany, and sometimes gets confused with things...and at this point, I'm thinking that McGuyver bought my mom and I each a vibrator. I look over at Aviator man who is smiling, but I can tell he's not sure what's in the box, either. And I mean this is a BIG box, and I'm wondering if it's a party pack of vibrators...and I am freaking out, because wouldn't YOU if you thought your stepdad bought you a party pack of vibrators???? My mom is all "open it! Open it!" And I'm all...it's ok..."I don't want to open it all up"...and my mom is "but there's all different colors, so people know which one is theirs if you have a party!!" OMG! My mom thinks I'm gonna have a vibrating bullet party with all of my girlfriends to pleasure their vajayjays with? She rips the box from me and opens it up....And I realize it's a kitchen blender with all different attachments, including cups with colored rings so your guests know which cup is theirs. Of course, it's a blender....would you have known it was a blender. And then the following week, I saw the infomercial. (Can I just add here that I use this bullet, weekly?)

I swear to God that Cathy Mitchell probably has some sort of porn or sex industry background. GT Xpress 101. That's the grill thingy that puts all of your food in a semi-circular pocket....Have you ever watched how she lures the old dude into her pocket meals? Have you ever watched how her wig slips in this infomercial from the excessive sweat that is dripping off of her forehead into said pocket meal? Doesn't that sound yummo?

Ron Jeremy originally was the celebrity endorser for "Extenze". The male enhancement pill that is all natural. People. Seriously, if ingesting something from nature made your peepee large, you would see men smoking bongs and chewing cud 24-7...first of all, why would ANYONE want Ron Jeremy promoting ANYTHING for them? He is nas-tee...OMG...I get it....he and Cathy Mitchell!!!!!

Top That...doggy style

I've taken a couple of days off...not because I've been busy...but because I don't know how I am going to top my blog about the smell levels....seriously, the pressure is on? Oh, corn cock....I wish I had more stories about you....I wonder if he got married...or if his wife likes anal?

I drove to LaPorte, yesterday, to see a client. And I saw 2 dogs fucking on top of a dog house. (Wonder if they like human-style?) Yes, I admit I slowed down to see if the canine porn show was still going on when I was driving home...it wasn't...but, seriously...do dogs spoon after coitus? Do they have foreplay...is sniffing each others rockets and onions their idea of foreplay? Does the male dog take the bitch (it's appropriate, here) out for a rawhide or Beggin' Strip before he mounts her? Does the she-dog have an orgasm...does the he-dog feel inadequate when she doesn't? Does he ask her if was good? Does she tell him, no and that his breath smells like shit? Do they do it in front of the puppies? I mean they do it on top of a dog house? These are the thoughts that were in my head while driving the 'hoe, home...I have officially lost it.

The level of smells.....

A couple of blogs ago....I introduced you to a couple of my favorite terms for disgusting aromas..."smells like ass" and "crotch rot". I "invented" these one night after a couple friends and I were discussing some of the worst things we have seen and/or smelled. This just proves how I didn't have much of a life before I met Aviator Glasses-Man (that's new nickname for my hubby....he wears these Aviator sunglasses that make me, well...I need to keep SOME things private).

So this "smell scale" has a bad to worse rank. Let's start with the least offensive of the bunch:

Last Night's Sex....this is pretty self explanatory. But the background story is quite interesting. I was away at college (Texas Tech...go Red Raiders), and this girl that lived down the hall from my dorm asked me to watch her puppy while she and her boyfriend went home for the weekend. Her high school sweetheart didn't make it into Tech, so he moved to some apartment in Lubbock and went to a community college. Now, we all know that when your boyfriend has an apartment, there is no way in hell you will be staying in your dormroom....so, she stayed at this apartment EVERY night while her poor roommate had to make up excuses everytime her parents called and she wasn't there (this is before cell phones, I know ANCIENT!) He suprised her with a golden retriever puppy for her birthday. (Who the fuck gets a puppy in an apartment...again, he didn't get into Tech...) So, I say that I will watch the dog while they're gone. I decided it would be easier just to take dog with me for the day. I walk into apartment, and about fell over from odor. You got it: "last night's sex"....let me give you a visual...there were black fabric couches in the living room with "passion puddle" stains all over it, a black fabric chair with "passion puddles" all over the arms and cushions and even the kitchen chairs had "pp" on them. I go into the bedroom to get the dog out of the cage...and yes, you are correct, black sheets, comforter, etc...with more of this "screamin' semen stain" all over it. The poor dog is wagging his tail against the wall of the cage, I think he knew he was going to get some fresh air....Now, if you knew someone was entering your apartment...wouldn't you make the bed, try to hide stains and spray some lysol....? "Last Night's Sex"...#4

Curry Fart.....this experience occured when I was 8 in the back of a '79 Chevy Monte Carlo....it was silver on the outside and burgandy velour on the inside. My Mom was recently divorced from my dad and we moved into an apartment complex....it was actually a really cool place to live, because there were a lot of kids my age and a really cool pool. We would take turns carpooling to school. I was sitting in the back of this Monte Carlo, one morning, on my way to school.....Dr and Mrs "SomeIndianName" were in the front seat and their kid, me and another neighbor kid were in the back. Dr and Mrs "Indian" were really nice. The father loved to make jokes (they weren't funny, but his accent was)...one day he said he had a new game he wanted to share with us....his kid was bright red and was on the verge of tears...we were like "whatever", "what's the game?"...Dr "Indian" says: "It's called Guess What We Had For Dinner Last Night" and he would give us a clue....by now, his kid is sobbing....I'm sitting in the middle and the other neighbor kid is egging Dr "Indian" on...at this point, I am thinking I may be in some trouble now....and then, it happened: Dr "Indian" ripped a fart (I swear he shat in his pants...it sounded like a wet one)....and said "What do you think we ate?"...I'm about to vomit, and am stuck between these two kids and nowhere near a window....the neighbor kid yells out "Curry!"...and Dr and Mrs "Indian" are laughing in the front seat..."YES!!!"...we pull up to the school, and I swear a fart cloud emits from the car as we get out....the rest of the day, I was constantly asked by teachers if I had eaten curry, lately.... "Curry Fart"...#3

Smells Like Ass.....now this order derived from a plethora of events....I went into a prospective client's house that needed a new kitchen. These people were NOT clean and when I walked through the living room, past the couches, on my way to kitchen...all I could smell was stinky butt. Then, there are those stinky guys that drive trucks all day and when you get into the truck, you get it: you can smell more stinky butt. You go to the movie theratres, sit in the chair...and ugh, stinky butt....Apparently, some people do not know how to wipe their ass, correctly...or that changing your underwear everyday isn't an option..it's a RULE. And "yesterday's ass"? That's just ass gone really bad. That's when you don't wipe correctly (or hell, when you don't wipe at all?) and you got that monkey butt/orangutan ass thing going with the chaffing and poop pellets all tangled up in your rectum hair (mmm....what's for lunch?)...and you constantly pick at your pants (I've seen people smell their fingers after doing that...WTF?)...."Smells Like Ass"...#2

Crotch Rot....this is the worst smell on my list....now, I had to experience this with the crooked lady at the grocery the other day....but I am grateful to say that this odor is pretty rare. I am responsible for creating the term, but I am not responsible for creating the smell.....one of Texas Tech's finest grid-iron boys shared this story with me. A girl that lived on the same floor as me in my college dorm, got around. She never showered much and was game for just about any sex act. She had a pretty extensive porn collection and loved to act out her favorite scenes...so, apparently, she was at a party discussing anal sex with some of the football team. (I am warning you, this next story might be too much) One of the players admitted that he hadn't had anal sex with a girl and she said if he wanted to try it out on her, that it would be fine....so, since the Everclear-Kool Aid punch was flowing that night, he took her up on her offer. A half an hour later, the guys said they saw him jump in his trunk and bolt out of the parking lot. She came back to the party and started two stepping to some Garth....one guy decided to check on his buddy back at their house. He walked into to find the guy screaming in a hot shower....then he jumped out and brushed his teeth for 20 minutes....apparently, he did the butt-deed with her and then she asked if he would go down on her...he obliged (as most Southern Gentleman would) and said he thought he was going to die. he said the smell of her vagina reminded him of a garbage dump, and to make matters worse, when he got home, he found corn on his dick...."Crotch Rot"...#1 (The corn-dick part was just a bonus....)

Fat Bags

I have bodacious ta tas. I'm not bragging, I am simply stating a fact. I do not like them. In fact, I hate them. They get in the way and they're high maintenance. I don't see what the big fascination is about them and why there are millions of stupid names for them....torpedos, fun bags, money makers, chi chis, cha chas, humpty dumplings...oh, and my favorite? Jugs. That was my nickname when I was 13....Jugs. Can you imagine walking down the hallway in Jr High School and having guys yell out "Hey, Jugs!" Holy Hell. I don't care what you call them, in all actuality they're just 5 lbs of fat with a nipple on them...well, in my case 10.

They're high maintenance, too. When you are bigger than a DD, you have to order your bras off of websites that are either porn related or ugly, fat people related. Seriously, what would be scarier than seeing a huge ass set of knockers coming at you in a leopard print bra? Grrrr....While I'm ordering my brassieres from overtheshoulderboulderholder.com....the itty-bitty-titty committee girls are going into their local Victoria's Secret to buy some cute bra that comes with a "cutlet" you can stuff into it(the only cutlet you'll see this girl with is the veal on my dinner plate)and straps the size of dental floss. The straps on my bra are so wide, you could use them as racetracks for your Hotwheels or Matchbox cars.

And they're heavy.....you better not be close when I peel my bra off....they usually hit the floor with a thump. I throw them back over my shoulders if I need to walk anywhere. Or sometimes, I just tuck them into my pants...I swear one day I will be hunched over enough that I will eventually be bent in half at the waist permantly...

Oh, and lets talk about sex with big tits....so, I have learned, the hard way, that I need to keep a brassiere on during sex whilst "on top"....(since a hard helmut and hockey goal keepers mask is not appropriate bedroom attire)....I got a concussion AND a black eye the last time I rode my cowboy. Yee Haw...ouch.