Very “Inspiring” Blogger

Vic of JustPlainOlVic nominated me for a Very Inspiring Blogger award. I am not sure exactly what I inspire him to do, but I am not one to argue with getting an award. He says I am his muse but I am too scared to ask exactly what I am inspiring him to go do.

I’m supposed to tell seven things about me. And that is tough because my whole blog is just random shit about me. So I think I will make this more fun for you and easier for me and tell you seven times I was so very wrong about something.

 

  1. Song lyrics: Not only am I wrong a lot of the time. I often prefer my own lyrics (because I am conceited)  and will intentionally sing it incorrectly. It’s as annoying as it sounds. For example: Dancing in the Moonlight the lyrics are “you and me endlessly.” But I’m like “you and me and Leslie” because I prefer to think of him having a three way dance with his girl and whoever Leslie is. I’ll also sing multiple parts or chorus’ or even the instrumental parts. I’m the worst.

 

  1. Our company holiday party was two weekends ago and I kind of got lost. But I finally found it. And parked. And went to the ballrooms trying to find my party. And then went to the front desk looking for my party. I was pretty embarrassed to learn I was at the completely wrong hotel. In my defense, they were both from the same hotel group and started with the same letter. But still…

 

  1. My first act as a supervisor at my current job, I had to put someone on a final. Which is the last step before a termination of employment. I called my new employee of one week in and had him hang out until my boss was available to sit down with us and issue the final. The employee sweated it out for about 2o min with me, awkwardly making small talk,  until my boss walked in and told me I had pulled aside the wrong guy. I got so embarrassed I thought I was going to cry.

 

  1. I didn’t know what an exotic dancer was until I was 15 or 16. I thought it meant a flamenco dancer or something…you know…exotic. My brother told me and I didn’t believe him. But the internet settled that one really quickly.

 

  1. Once when I was 21 my father had a cardiac event and was hospitalized. I got a frantic message on my phone from my mother and rushed down to the ER. They couldn’t find my father and I threw the biggest fit I think I ever have in my entire life. I was yelling in the ER at the check in nurse about how irresponsible they were to lose a patient. And how I couldn’t believe people trusted them with their lives. They called around and finally found him for me. He was in a different hospital. In a different hospital provider group. In a different county.

 

  1. I was at a previous job, painting houses, and I was out in the yard trimming back a bush. I thought it was covered with Virginia Creepers. I basically touched it all over my hands, arms, face, neck. Then my boss came running over to stop me. It was poison ivy. And that’s how I found out that I am immune to it. Thankfully.

 

  1. I could mention basically every guy I have ever dated for this one. But it’s a cheap shot and I am above such things.

So thank you Vic for the nomination. I know I am supposed to nominate more people but I really don’t feel like it.  I decided some time this year to stop doing things I don’t feel like doing. Like eating right, exercising, or being around toxic assholes. And I am much happier for it.

My Crafting Adventures: Rag Rug

So here’s what happened. Like 3 years ago I was fucking around on Etsy (a favorite past time). I could literally spend a million dollars on that site. And I saw a rug. The most beautiful rug in the world. It looked like shaggy, soft grass. I immediately needed to own it.

 

But it was expensive. So I started looking at other rugs in this similar style. They were all somewhere between $200 and $900. I clearly was not buying a rug.

 

I started thinking on it and I realized I could totally figure out how to make one of these rugs. I was clever and crafty. I read a few tutorials and went out and bought all the supplies I would need to make this rug. In the end it only cost me about $5 as I already had all the other supplies just lying around.

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You guys know you like seeing my gross old sheets.

I had some old white jersey sheets that I decided to save to use for the project. And the only other thing I needed was the latch hook backing, which I went out and bought that weekend.

 

And then I basically stuck it all in the no man’s land of my craft table and kind of sort of forgot about it.

 

Until Christmas eve when I finished my last project and wasn’t sure what I wanted to work on next. And then I remembered that I promised my brother a rug. And then I remembered the shag rug of my dreams.

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I promised him a rug like this one I also made. I totally love it. It’s a great pattern from Cocoknits.

And then I tore my craft supplies apart trying to find the materials I had set aside to make those two rugs. I’ve moved twice since then and been homeless for a while and I wasn’t even sure if I still had all that stuff. But I totally did.

 

So I gathered my materials and spent all day on Christmas working on my project. First I pulled all the seams out of the sheets and cut them into strips. By hand. It was tedious as fuck.

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So. Many. Strips.

Then I wanted to dye the sheets. I really wanted them to be a warm, yellow color. Like the color of turmeric (one of my favorite spices). I Googled dyes the color of turmeric and saw that I could dye my sheets with turmeric. Which would give them the color of turmeric.

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I love turmeric.

Also, can I just mention again how clever I am?

 

I had a bunch of old turmeric that had expired that I was going to toss. I combined it with some paprika and saffron to give it some depth of color.

In this process I also managed to dye my fingers a glorious shade of yellow. It was pretty noticeable at work on Friday.

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These are my actual man hands. Can you even tell they are yellow?

I treated the scraps with a vinegar bath first to help the dye set. And then I boiled the spices with some water to dissolve it properly. I only had to soak them in the dye for an hour and the color was perfect. So I washed and dried the sheets and started hand tying them to the rug backing.

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Dye bath in my kitchen sink.

I’ve been pretty obsessed with this rug for a few days. It’s all I’ve been able to think about which is a sure sign that I am probably completely insane. But I finished it tonight and it is basically my favorite thing ever right now. So I had to share it will all of you lovely readers.

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First three scraps, tied on.

It is so cuddly soft and cheerful. I put it beside my side of the bed so it will be the first thing I see in the morning. I feels great on my toes.

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Progress is slow.

Also, because I am weird as fuck, I really like digging my fingers into the fibers and feeling all the knots tied to the matting. It’s like picking at a scalp or something.

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The sweet color of success.

Then I went online and found some other hand made rugs. That I now need to own. Which means I will probably be doing another similar post about rugs again soon. Sorry.

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Texture and color up close. Like a mysterious forest.

Blog Love

I think I am officially back from having my…emotional difficulties. While I was away I was nominated for multiple blogging awards. I think the lesson here is that the less I blog, the more awards I get. I’ll keep that in mind for future reference. Be patient and I will respond to all of them. It is a little overwhelming right now.

So, first, Eva from  the Tattoo Tourist nominated for a blogging award. I love her blog and her and apparently the feeling is mutual so we are in a common law blogger marriage or something. I’m not sure how all of that works. She’s better at legalities, which is what makes us such a great couple.

And now; to the questions…

1. What is the main purpose of your blog?

I used to think this blog was just a means to entertain myself and offset the sadfest that my other blog tends to be. But now I am seeing the value of sharing these stories as well. It sneakily somehow became one of the most fullfilling things in my life.

2. What are your three favorite blogs?

This is hard and I don’t like leaving people out. I like A LOT of blogs. I read a lot of blogs (though I have been horribly slacking lately). So, instead I will share my favorite genital related blogs because I am in a vagina-y mood (when am I not, right?). These are all NSFW.

 

Vagina Pagina: I know it’s LiveJournal and the formatting annoys the shit out of me. But I have laughed until I cried reading it. Top favs of mine to read are: Stained Undies. And Vagina Foods. Also their Vulvapedia is genius. If you haven’t guessed it is very very graphic.

 

Sexis: I’m sure all of you have read this because it is The Bloggess and she is my hero. But this sex column was the first thing I ever read by her. And this article is the first one I ever read. And I fell in love instantly. I also love her sex quizzes.

 

OhJoySexToy: This is a gorgeously drawn comic blog that does reviews of sex toys. They are funny, cute, wonderfully candid, open minded and accepting. It is basically everything I love in the world in one place. Their reviews are my favorite thing about the site. But they have some great Sex ed comics too. This one on Consent is a favorite for me to direct my partners to.

3. What is the weirdest/most controversial blog post you have written?

I don’t really feel like anything I write is that weird. I mean, it’s all just me. I think my ‘weirdest’ one was this one, about dyeing my armpit and pubic hairs. But my favorite one so far was the vagina fingering story. I don’t know, what do you guys think is the weirdest one?

4. Are you writing a book or screenplay? If so what is it about and will you try to publish it?

I have written several books (all terrible) and at least a novel’s worth of short stories. Plus poetry and my other blog. I am currently working on a novel right now that I am very pleased with. It is about monsters and childhood and growing up in an abusive home. It is a horror type of story. I would be happier than I can express to get it published someday.

5. Eggnog, yes or no? Followed by rum or brandy?

I fucking hate milk and eggnog. It repulses me. I’ve never had brandy. Rum is my deal! My favorite drink right now is Kraken rum (originally bought for the tentacled octopus on the label) with coke and a splash of Disaronno amaretto. It tastes like a Dr. Pepper and makes me feel so relaxed.

6. How do you feel about questionnaires?

I feel like nobody cares about my answers and I am pretty conceited to think anyone even reads this shit. But I love reading everyone else’s because I am endlessly fascinated by other people. Also, I am totally creepy and like peeping into your lives.

7. Will you blog forever or is there a cutoff point? If so, why?

Unless I become immortal, I will definitely stop blogging someday. However, if I can live forever I will need to make it a point to keep being dumb so I can entertain all of you forever. But I have no intentions of stopping any time soon.

8. Have any of your blog readers sent you something in the mail? And if so what?

Leah sent me three lovely, handmade hats. And I sent her three handmade bracelets. Also, I got uncountable goat accoutrement for Aussa from bloggers to send to her. And Debbie painted me a picture, but she gave it to me in person. But you guys should still know about it, because she is like some kind of wizard who is good at everything. If I missed anyone please tell me so I can brag about your awesomeness!

9. Boxers or briefs?

This depends on a lot of different factors. At work I wear men’s briefs because they are extra comfy and my job can be very physical. At home I wear women’s bikinis or thongs depending on my day and outfit. At night I wear men’s boxer briefs around the house or to bed sometimes. My favorite two pairs are: purple with glow in the dark skulls and lime green and covered with insects. They are fucking adorable. And I want more cutesy underwears like them.

10. Secret nicknames or pet names.

Um…None are secret. I get called a lot of things. Amazon. Wonder Woman. The Terminator (both for the way I dump men and the way I fire them at work). I get called a robot a lot (though that isn’t really a nickname). My favorite is Amazon Firing Machine.

 

I know I am supposed to do more with this thing, but I am not going to. Sorry, rules. Thanks again for the nomination!

Grandma D

 

I don’t generally tell these types of stories about my family. There are a lot of them. I don’t really know where they go in my life. It’s really sad, but also kind of funny in a terrible way.

 

I have been thinking about my grandmother a lot lately. I am not really sure why. I did not know her at all. She died when I was 22. You might wonder why I didn’t know her considering I was an adult when she died. And the answer is…

 

I don’t know.

 

This is one of those weird things that my family refuses to talk about. I remember her calling sometimes when I was growing up. She’d call and after I said “hello?”

 

She’d say, “It’s Grandma D. Is this Maurna?”

 

And I’d cautiously say “Yes…” (This was before caller ID, for all you youngsters).

This shit was life changing. Suddenly you could avoid people without missing the calls you wanted to get.

There’d be a long pause where I would hold my breath, waiting for her to ask me something, anything about myself. Instead she’d reply with, “Is your father there?”

 

And I’d either say yes and get him, or say no and tell her he’d call back. She never asked me anything about my life. We never said more than those few phrases to each other.

 

Sometimes it felt like we were reading from some alienating, dysfunctional script. But we weren’t. We were just so unknown to each other, it was an impossible barrier to breach. I guess we were alienated and dysfunctional.

 

When she died, I felt nothing. I still feel nothing about her being dead. She was a voice on the phone and a picture I once saw of her. Nothing more.

 

Until my father went out to go through her things. She lived in the desert in Arizona. In a single wide trailer with no AC. Her truck was 40 years old and also had no AC.

 

She was an interesting lady. She owned a co-op that she had started herself. It began with her pulling clothes from the trash (a habit I seem to have picked up) and cleaning and mending them and giving them away to the poor or needy.

Seriously. My favorite shirts are from the trash.

Soon she was going to the dump and picking up broken appliances and fixing them, cleaning them, and taking them to her co-op. Everything was sold by donation only at her co-op. You could work a few days in the shop or just take what you needed.

 

When she died, she had branched out into food as well. She had volunteers that would dumpster dive at grocery stores and collect prepackaged or unspoiled food items to give away too. I hear she was even working with local farmers to donate surpluses.

 

In some ways I really admire her for doing all these things. It is exactly the kind of thing I could see myself doing. But in another way, that fact scares the fuck out of me. Because she was mentally ill.

 

She went to the dentist one day and got sick. For some reason, she decided that the dentist was trying to poison her. She became increasingly convinced of it. So much so that she stopped eating.

And starved herself.

To death.

I don’t really know why she didn’t just lock it up.

When my father went out to her place, he found that she was a hoarder. Most of my family is, in my opinion. She had stacks of clothes waiting to be taken to the co-op. And appliances. And jewelry. And envelopes full of money.

This is about what I imagine.

Lots of money. She was a multi-millionaire. Living in the desert with no AC. Starving herself to death.

 

She was actually my favorite of all my grandparents. And I guess, in a weird way, we were the closest. We seem to have the most in common.

 

I don’t even know why I wrote this. I guess I thought sharing it might get it out of my head a bit. And it did. I promise to be funny again next time.

New Fiction

I have been staring at a blank page in Google Documents for a few days. I am kind of lost in a world of fiction and have some non-fiction writer’s block. So I have posted a new fiction story over in my fiction tab. I hope you guys enjoy it. As always I’d love to get feedback on it.

Talking in my Sleep

I had a friend sleep over Saturday night. And he hilariously talked in his sleep. Like, non-stop, all night. He suffers from insomnia, as do I. And he talks in his sleep, as do I. But, unlike him, I also sleep walk. In fact, I can interact with my environment to a disturbing degree in my sleep.

Check out that creepstache.

I have some theories about insomnia, sleepwalking, and sleep talking. I’m not here to debate the science or research behind any of that. I know that for me, the less I sleep, the more I sleep walk, sleep talk, and have symptoms of OCD and depression when I’m awake.

 

With all that said; this is the totally true story that I have absolutely no memory of.

 

My sister J and I shared a room growing up. We shared a bed for several years, and even a pillow when we were very young. When I was 10, we had bunk beds.

Ours looked like this. No rail to keep you from falling off and they were made out of splintery wood. Like old pallet wood.

I got the top bunk both because I was older and already a giant freak, and because J would fall off the top bunk every time she slept there. She even re-fractured her arm once.

 

I’m getting a little off topic, but we also used the call the space between the bed and the wall “the creek.” It always cracked us up when she would slip down into the creek and she would call out to me “Help! I’m stuck in the creek!” And I would be helpless with laughter watching her struggle to get free.

 

Anyway, I rarely slept growing up. I couldn’t fall asleep, I couldn’t stay asleep, and once I was awake, I couldn’t fall back asleep. I am still this way to a lesser degree.

 

There were nights where I did not sleep at all. On a good day, I would sleep for 4 hours or so. As a result, I had crazy bad sleep talking. I even used to sing sometimes.

 

One night, my brother T was at a friends house so it was just J and I upstairs. J says that at some point in the night I woke her up with a high pitched voice saying “J, turn on the light. There’s a monster outside.”

We didn’t have a nightlight. But there are some kick ass ones, like this adorable Tardis.

J turned on the light and there was naturally no monster. She looked up at me on the top bunk and I was fast asleep.

 

She turned out the light and went back to bed. A short time later, I woke her up again. “J, turn on the light. Please?” She says I said this in a bizarre sing songy voice.

 

She turned the light on again and looked in on me. She said this time I had a creepy smile on my face. In fact, I had creeped her out so much, she decided to go sleep in T’s room.

 

But after only a few minutes, I had gotten out of my bunk and followed her into T’s room. I was still completely asleep, just so you guys know.

 

I bent down to wake her up. “J, you forgot your pillow.” And I handed her the pillow off her bed.

 

She thanked me and told me to go back to bed. Which I did and she again fell asleep. She doesn’t have the same sleeping issues I have.

 

But after an hour or so I came in and woke her up talking about monsters. Then she says I stopped, turned to her, and exclaimed, “J! What’s in your ear?”

 

And that’s when J realized she DID feel something in her ear. She freaked out thinking I had placed something in her ear in my sleep (which is a valid fear and something weird I would probably totally do).

 

She ran down the stairs to our bathroom and peered into her ear canal. There was a roach. In her fucking ear. There are pictures of this on the internet, but I just cant look it up. Feel free though, readers.

 

If this was me I probably would have just curled into the fetal position on the floor of the bathroom and been found that way by one of my parents in the morning.

 

But J pulled the roach out with a pair of tweezers like a fucking superhero. Then she went back upstairs to check on me. She didn’t even wake me up because she knew I would never get back to sleep. And because she is the best sister ever.

 

She found me back in my bunk talking about owls and making my fingers dance? I am a little unclear on that part.

 

The next morning she told me this story and I did not believe one word of it. I mean, except that I do sleep walk. And sleep talk. And have nightmares about monsters all the time. And am scared of the dark.

 

It was getting pretty tough to deny. And then she showed me where I had put her pillow. In T’s room. So, I guess that whole thing happened. And is freaky as shit.


I guess the moral of this story is that you should never stay the night with me. Because what the hell?

Catholics and Condoms (NSFW)

This is a semi-sex story that I told my sister, J. I think this story makes me seem like a bit of an asshole. And I probably am. But J convinced me it was hilarious and I should blog about it. So, here you go.

 

The last guy I was sleeping with was R. This feels like a lifetime ago, but it was actually only last year.

 

R was 15 years older than me. He was divorced and had a lot of kids. He was also an ex-Catholic. If you have read My Life’s Mottos, you’ll know that one of them is: Once a Catholic, always a Catholic.

You cant argue with those bitchin’ churches, though.

I have dated many ex-Catholics. And every single one of them has had some serious sexual hang ups. That’s not to say all that all ex-Catholics do, or even that all Catholics do. I am only talking about my experiences.

 

R’s biggest hang up was wearing a condom. He was against them. Extremely. Once, he got up in the middle of us making out, got dressed, and went home, because I wouldn’t have sex without a condom. That was one of the last times I ever saw him.

 

Not being a man, I don’t really get what the big deal is with condoms. I guess it doesn’t feel as good? It seems a small price to pay to minimize the risk of pregnancy and STDs. But maybe that’s just me.

 

One day R and I were hanging out and he asked if I was interested in having sex. I was, but I didn’t have any condoms. So we went to Walgreens.

 

We went inside and I walked right over the the condom aisle. I already knew where it was because all the Walgreens are set up the same. Also, the aisles are pretty clearly labeled.

 

Have you guys been to the condom aisle lately? I remember when I was a teenager in my shitty, small hometown, you had two brands to choose from and maybe two varieties in each brand, if you were lucky. You basically got Trojans or Lifestyles. And good luck finding anything else fun or interesting.

This was basically the only choice.

But nowadays the condom aisle is like the candy aisle! There are so many options to choose from!  There are ribbed, studded, flavored, glow in the dark. They have warming lubes and ‘massage oils’ and all kinds of brands and sizes and materials to choose from.

Like so.

So R and I were standing there, and he was red faced and whispering to me about what we wanted to buy. I am not embarrassed about buying condoms. I never was. In fact, quite the opposite. I’m proud. I’m like “Look at me! Having sex! With another person!”

 

A Walgreens employee walked by while we were talking and asked if we needed help. R got even redder and I laughed and told her “No thank you.”

 

By this point R was looking around all paranoid, like god himself was watching and judging (which, if you believe he exists, he always is, right?). So he got kind of rude with me and told me: “Just pick something already so we can get the hell out of here. People are staring!”

 

I looked around the empty aisle. “What people?”

 

“The woman that works here.” He hissed.

 

“So what? She knows we’re buying condoms. Big whoop. Who gives a shit?” I said to him.

 

“What must she think?” He asked, looking worried and embarrassed and annoyed with me.

 

“Um, that two consenting adults are buying condoms so they can have safe sex?” I was super confused by his attitude. I wasn’t underage. We weren’t having an affair. We were just two people buying condoms together.

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I’m guessing I’ll never have a better chance than this to show off these amazing AIDS awareness ads from Europe that I adore.

“Hurry up so we can get out of here!” He was losing his temper with me. And I thought it was hilarious.

 

I naturally decided to fuck with him.

 

We picked out a box of condoms and walked up to the register. The checkout person was a guy about my age. He rang up our purchases and I said to him, “Hey, guess what?”

 

The checkout guy asked “What?”

condom ad

I just love them. I think there are four in total that I’m going to share.

I said to him: “I’m buying condoms. And I’m going to use them. Tonight. With that guy.” And I pointed to R.

 

The checkout guy laughed and said “I figured as much.”

 

“We’re going to have safe sex tonight and it is going to be awesome.” I gave the checkout guy a thumbs up and a huge grin.

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And this.

R was seething now. But the checkout guy laughed again and said “Good for you. Enjoy!” And he handed us our purchases.

 

Maybe I should have stopped there. But let me remind you that R is in his mid 40s. He’s been married. He has multiple children with multiple women. He is allegedly an adult.

 

We walked outside and there was a young, hot, dude smoking a cigarette outside the building. He was maybe 20 or so.

 

I walked up to him with a big smile and said “Hey, guess what?”

 

He smiled at me in a friendly way and said, “What?”

 

And I said, “I just bought condoms in there. I’m having sex tonight! With him” And again I pointed to R. “I’m excited because it’s going to be awesome because he is great in bed.”

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And this one. Aren’t they great?

The young, hot dude started cracking up laughing and said, “Good luck!” Then he high fived me.


R wouldn’t speak to me the entire drive home. He didn’t have sex with me that night. In fact, I’m not even sure we had sex ever again after that night. And we definitely never bought condoms together again.