Blood and Urine

Whew! I am back and ready to talk more about bodily fluids!

 

You guys may be asking yourself what I have been doing for the past month and a half. Well… I finished my novel. Like, finished finished. I turned 31. I got a new job. I made some jewelry. I found some new blogs to creep on that fill me with feminist rage. In short, I’ve been busy.

 

Incidentally, if anyone wants to read my novel and give me feedback please email me. I would appreciate it.

 

And now, to the story!

 

When I was a kid, I shared a room with my sister J. But when I was even younger, like 7ish, I shared a room with J and my brother T. Actually, J and I shared a bed. And a pillow. That’s right, I did not even have my own pillow.

 

One night while we were sleeping (I always made her sleep on the inside because I am a bit claustrophobic) I had a lovely dream. I dreamt I was on the toilet, urinating.

 

Unfortunately, when I woke up, I found that I had peed the bed. The downside of sharing a bed with someone is that if they pee the bed then you get peed on. And J got peed on. A lot. She still reminds me of it sometimes. I imagine it wasn’t as funny to her as it was to me.

 

We had to change the sheets. And mattress pad. And take a bath. All in the middle of the night.

 

I have not peed the bed, or myself ever since.

 

Until recently. Because I had the Essure procedure last year I have noticed a weakening of my pelvic floor. It is actually very common as women age and especially after giving birth. But mine started a few months after my procedure.

 

Image result for essure springs

The springs all up in my tubes

Basically what happens is that when I have to urinate, it is an emergency. I don’t notice needing to go more frequently, just more urgently.

 

I have had a few close calls where I barely made it to the bathroom on time. And maybe a few times where a few drops came out on the bathroom floor instead of into the toilet bowl. (I know I am coming back strong and with my typical class).

 

Today I was on my period. And for some reason, using my Diva Cup tends to put pressure on my bladder, which does make me have to go more frequently. These two things were the perfect combination for disaster.

 

Image result for diva cup

The cup all up in my vaginal canal

I was sitting on the couch, rewatching Supernatural and minding my own business. I suddenly felt a warm wetness in my underwear. I actually thought my Diva Cup had overflowed and was leaking out into my underwear. It happens sometimes during heavy flow days.

 

I pulled my underwear down to check and saw that I was peeing. I didn’t even feel like I had to go. But there I was, actually peeing myself.

 

I ran to the bathroom. I left a trail of urine like Hansel and Gretel through the forest. Only that wasn’t a trail any woodland creatures would want to follow.

Image result for hansel and gretel breadcrumb trail

Only with urine.

I took a shower and wiped the urine up off my floors. Thankfully they are fake wood and not carpet. I fucking hate carpet, but that is a rant for another time.
Unfortunately,  I had also peed all over my couch. So I cleaned it as best as I could and am now sitting on a towel. Like a sick cat. (Thanks to Debbie for that hilarious phrase.)

The Science of (Bad) Sex

 

Just got back from a nice vacation with my sister and her boyfriend. (who I do like, C!) And she reminded me of a story that deserves to be told to all of you lovely and  patient people.

 

Also inspired by the date I had this weekend with a man who was gorgeous but the worst kisser I have ever experienced in my entire life including both elementary school and the time G burped in my mouth while we were frenching.

 

In high school, I was dating G. The boy I lost my virginity to. Sex with him was consistently bad. He was unimaginative, unadventurous, squeamish, and very shy about his body.

 

We never had oral sex because he didn’t want to. We never even had digital sex (handjobs or fingering) again because he didn’t want to. In fact, there was little to no foreplay. I didn’t even really know what all that was about until the third guy I slept with almost 3 years later.

 

I remember the first time we had sex I was lying there thinking “I don’t get what all this hype is about sex. People risk STDs and pregnancy for THIS?!” It definitely did not seem worth it. And it continued to not seem worth it for the duration of our sexual relationship.

 

We kept doing it, though. I was determined to figure out what the appeal was. My sex drive had stemmed from scientific interest in the process and the desire to understand human emotions/sensations. Plus, I just KNEW there had to be something magical about it.

 

I hate to say it, but at this point, my experience and desire has not changed. I have had mostly bad sex in my life. I feel that most straight men are just not very good in bed. No offense guys, but I have a lot of experience in this area.

 

But once, while I was still in high school and having sex with G, we were hanging out at my house with my little sister, J. She and I shared a room right up until I moved out.

 

I pulled G aside and asked him if he wanted to have sex in my childhood bed. Of course he did, who wouldn’t?

 

So we told my sister we would be upstairs for a while and commenced to getting it on. Now, you would think J would know better than to come upstairs and enter our shared room without knocking.

 

But you would be wrong.

 

She shoved the door open and was privy to a no doubt shocking eyeful of G’s hairy ginger-blonde ass. G and I were doing missionary (what else?) so she was thankfully spared the image of my naked body.

 

She screamed, slammed the door, and ran down stairs to sit on the couch, traumatized. And hopefully having learned an important lesson in knocking when the door is closed.

 

G pulled out immediately as the mood was most definitely unceremoniously halted. But I looked him right in the eye and demanded he get it up again and finish fucking me. And god bless that teenage boy, because he did as he was told.

 

I am a little ashamed that I had just wanted to finish. But in the name of science, research, and discovery; I really wanted to get off.

 

Tiger Balm

Back by popular demand, more stories about my privates! Yay! I feel like I will just never run out of stories of terrible things happening to them. So here goes:

 

When I was a child I learned to read at a very young age. Like, before kindergarten. My mother homeschooled my older sisters for a year or two. I don’t really remember why. All homeschoolers are either super hippies or weird religious people. And though my father is a super hippie, my mother was just an average person.

 

At any rate, I had nothing to do during the homeschooling. I was too young for school, too young to be left alone, and we were too poor for daycare. So I spent homeschooling also being homeschooled.

 

My sisters are 8 and 10 years older than myself so I have no idea what they were learning. But I learned the alphabet and then how to read and then how to tell time on an analog clock.

 

Which is amazing because I seem to have de-evolved through sheer laziness and now have to actually pay close attention when reading an analog clock.

 

So I went into kindergarten already knowing all the material. Which made for an extremely boring year of school. Plus, I was an insufferable show off and know it all. As a result, I had exactly one friend.

 

But I didn’t need friends. I had books and my little sister, J, to torment.

 

One day J and I were playing in my parents bed. I was in kindergarten so she was about three. And we were snooping through everything, as children do. When we found a little tub of something.

 

Being older and literate, J asked me what it was. The label was covered in all kinds of funny symbols that I did not recognize. And then I saw the words Tiger Balm. Well, I knew what balm was. It was a salve, like lip balm. It went on your lips.

 

This was still a few years before my chapstick addiction, which I still have today. So I handed the tub to J and told her to put some on her lips.

 

I don’t know if you guys know what Tiger Balm is. It is like an Asian version of Icy Hot or BenGay. It smells terrible (that’s because of the menthol). It is also very strong when applied to sensitive areas, like the lips of a three year old child.

 

I remember her screaming and crying in pain and then, as usual, my mother came in and found us. And I was, once again, in serious trouble for doing something mean to J. But I swear, it was an honest mistake.

 

But that isn’t the end of the story. My privates were involved, remember?

 

So earlier this year, I had a little tub of Tiger Balm that I actually never use because I have very sensitive skin and it is just too strong for me. But I also didn’t want to get rid of it because nothing I do makes any sense.

 

I keep my Diva Cup on the same shelf of my medicine cabinet as the Tiger Balm. When I got my period, I pulled the cup out of it’s adorable little bag, washed it, and then inserted it.

 

It took a few minutes for me to feel anything. But then it started feeling…weird in my vagina. Like not good weird. Bad weird. Although I suppose there is rarely any good weird if it is taking place inside your vagina.

 

And then it started tingling, again, bad tingling. It started burning. I pulled the cup out and smelled it. Yes, it was just in my vagina. I don’t care. I know what my vagina smells like. But I could distinctly smell the Tiger Balm.

 

I remembered the story with J and felt a moment of pity for her. That shit must be really bad on your lips. Because it was really bad on my vagina. Hopefully, she will feel a bit of justice with this story.

 

I limped around in pain for about 30 minutes and cursed myself for being an idiot. No amount of washing helped and I didn’t want to upset anything happening down there (vaginas have their own flora and fauna going on). And after my period was over, I put my cup back in it’s little bag and back in the cabinet.


Now, I’m not a total idiot, I had thrown away the Tiger Balm and washed the shelf where it had been.But I am at least a partial idiot because I didn’t wash the bag. And the following month, when I got my period again? You guessed it. I put the cup in and my vagina started feeling all weird again. And not the good kind of weird.

Fossil Show

I am back from my vacation/blog hiatus. I ate a bunch of BBQ, discovered champagne, hung out with my sister, and watched some terrible horror movies.

 

The weekend before my sister came to visit I went to a Fossil Show. I don’t know if any of you guys go to things like that, but let me tell you about it. It is 85% men at these things. Almost everyone there is over 60. And it is overwhelmingly white. Just old white men everywhere you look.

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Old white dude hanging out with a table of animal parts.

And then there’s me. I wore my Jurassic Park shirt in support of fossils. It got a lot of compliments. I generally don’t wear logo’d clothes because I feel like it is sort of an invitation for creepers to stare at my chest. But they stare anyway, so what the hell.

I don’t know why they put the logo right on the boobs.

I went with my brother and my father. We walked around examining baskets of discount animal skulls and so fucking many sharks teeth.

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So. Many.

I bought a giant ass crystal for my sister because I am awesome like that.

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Her actual new crystal. It is the size of a basketball.

And then we got to my favorite booth. The seller is a creepy old guy that has a ton of random shit. I see him at most of them gem and bead shows I go to (and I go to a lot). He never remembers me, which is just fine by me.

 

He sells lapidary supplies and cabochons and Native American jewelry (which is absolutely my favorite). But since I have been getting into embroidery, I have been interested in buying some cabochons for my collection.

If I ever get married, I want them to propose with a Squash Blossom Necklace.

My brother and I were sorting through his mess of a display when something caught my eye. It was a rough blue opal about the size of my thumb. I am not super into opals, I tend to be very picky about them. But this one was something.

It looked a bit like this.

I innocently picked it up, with no warning signs of the horror to come. I was showing it to my brother when the seller came over to us.

 

“That’s a nice piece of turquoise.” He told us.

THIS is turquoise.

It wasn’t turquoise, but whatever. Then he took it from my hand and said, “Here, check this out.” At which point he promptly popped it into his mouth.

 

He fished it out and held it back out to me so I could see how his saliva had brought out the colors.

 

But it was too late. I don’t know what kind of expression I had on my face, but it could only have been horror. I backed away from the table. I felt like my whole body was tainted. I felt…itchy.

Basically me.

 

My brother came swiftly to my side. He asked “Are you okay?”

 

“Did you see that guy? Did you see him? It was in his mouth. Who does that?” I was freaking out.

Adventure Time Freak Out animated GIF

Also me.

 

“Do you think he’s done that before with it?” My brother asked.

 

“Yes. Don’t you? I probably have Hepatitis now!” I was getting loud.

 

“Can you even get Hep from something like that?” My brother looked worried. Everyone in my family defers to me when it comes to diseases because I am the expert.

 

“Yes!” I whipped out my hand sanitizer and began compulsively spraying my hands. I was seriously freaked out.

Apparently drinking it is a thing. A very stupid thing.

 

Most sellers carry spray bottles of water that they use to bring out the color in their stones. I have never had someone put it in their mouth like that.

 

I walked over to another booth, far far away from that man. There was a young couple at the booth I happened to walk up to. The man started in on his little speech, but I was just staring blankly into the distance. I was shell shocked, unhearing and unseeing.

 

The couple I was talking to must have noticed something was off about me. They asked if I was okay. And the whole thing spilled out of me. They looked appropriately horrified and assured me that nothing at their own table had ever been in anyone’s mouth.


But the damage was done. I didn’t touch anything else for the entire rest of the show.

No touching!

Say it With Goats

My sister, J, came down this week for vacation so I am busy eating BBQ, watching horror movies, and drinking with her. I am having a blast so far!

I am in baby back rib heaven. Which is basically my regular heaven.

But I wanted to take a moment to discuss a pretty serious matter with you. Anyone that reads my blog should definitely also be reading Aussa’s blog.

 

She is getting married and we are all so happy for her! And we thought the best way to express our happiness was with goats.

 

So Leah came up with the idea to buy her goat plushies. Then I decided to bombard her with goat plushies because you should say everything with goats.

See: Goat

Now there is an Amazon Wish List that you can go to. The goats will be sent to me and I will send them to her. You know you guys want to be involved in this!

Surprisingly, I couldn’t find a goat skull on Amazon. What the hell, Amazon?

If we send her enough goats she may be able to stitch them into a wedding dress. You don’t want her wearing some boring old white dress, do you?

Picture this, but all goats.

But wait, there’s more. Debbie then came up with the most amazing, brilliant, kind idea in existence. Which should not surprise anyone that reads her blog as she is one of the most amazing, brilliant and kind people in existence.

 

Click on the link above to help her fulfill her super secret mission. Click on the Amazon Wish List link to bombard Aussa with goats. Click on the link to Leah to read her lies about my sexiness. And click on the link to Aussa because you love yourself and deserve to read her blog.


I’ll be back in a few days with more stories. And happy goating!

The Honey Incident

Let me preface this story with a disclaimer: this incident was the opposite of sexy.

 

When I first moved into my basement apartment on the beach, my sister, J, came over to stay for a few days and help. My sister, J, is my favorite person in the entire world (no offense entire world).

 

The cable people were out to hook up my TV and internet and J and I were getting ready to go to a party. Not just any party. A full moon party at my dad’s ex, S’s, place.

Look, it’s a real thing in the world

Her full moon parties had gained an almost legendary status in our social circle. S had a gorgeous house on a lake with a pool surrounded by bamboo, a yoga studio, and bandshell, a greenhouse, and an enormous garden. It was basically the modern and wealthy version of a hippie commune. And I loved it there.

 

I had already been to a few full moon parties. There was drinking and food and a bonfire and midnight kayaks in the lake led by the best looking man I have ever met in real life. There was also pot smoking and meditating and skinny dipping. I don’t know what any of that had to do with a full moon, other than it being a full moon, but who am I to refuse a hippie moon party?

 

Is there anything more fun that night time kayaking? No, there isn’t.

So J and I are in the kitchen at my new place, remember? And we are unpacking boxes to find the supplies to make a snack for the party. I wanted something quick and easy and thought my peanut butter and honey rice krispy treats were just the thing.

They are delicious!

I buy my honey from local apiarists, as you may recall from this story.   I had this large mason jar with just enough honey for my recipe. My sister and  I are talking and having a good time, as we generally do.

 

And I am feeling so good. I just got my own place. I was recovering well from my heart surgery, I was hanging with my favorite person on the planet, and I was getting ready to go to a beautiful house to enjoy a fun party with people I liked.

 

I reach my arm down into this mason jar, trying to get that last few precious drops of honey. My entire arm was now covered in that liquid gold.

Honey is so good!

I am not one to waste food, so I start licking my fingers. And then I lick my hand. And then I lick my wrist, my arm, all the way down to my elbow. My back was to my sister and, to mess with her, I start making yummy moaning noises.

And I am really getting into it. I am licking up my arm with what is basically porno tongue.  I am licking like a cat cleaning itself with inappropriate enthusiasm.

 

 

Like this: all up and down my arm.

That’s when I hear a noise. I looked over and saw that the cable guy is standing there. Staring at me. With some inscrutable combination of horror, disgust, and confusion on his face.

 

Even with her back to me, I could tell that J was trying so hard to not crack up laughing.

 

I stopped licking, smiled sweetly, and say, “Can I help you?”

 

But the guy kind of backed away from us with his hands up as if I were holding a gun instead of an empty jar of honey. “No, no. I’m just going to go…uh…back outside.”

 

He literally backed away from me, out the door, and outside.

 

And that’s when my sister and I completely lost it.

 

Because I know someone is going to ask; here is the recipe for those peanut butter and honey rice krispy treats:

 

1/2 c honey

1/2 c peanut butter

6c rice krispies (I tend to go to the health food store and buy brown rice ones)

1 tsp vanilla

1/4 tsp cinnamon

chocolate chips (optional, but why wouldn’t you?)
Melt the peanut butter and honey on low heat, remove from heat when fully liquid and combined. Add the other ingredients. Pour into greased pan (I usually grease mine with coconut oil). Let cool and eat.

July Search Terms

I know I am a few days late with this one. And my last post was a bit of a cop out too. I promise I am writing wondrous things and working on my weird crafty little projects. But here it is. This months search terms:

 

You fucking my sister: I am imagining this as being said by a young Robert De Niro. YOU fucking MY sister?!

 

The shit roach killer: Well, I don’t know if I am the shit, but let me tell you guys a quick and terrible story. It was 1am on my birthday morning. I had stayed up till midnight to be the first person to wish myself happy birthday. I woke up and felt something tickling my neck. I brushed it away, thinking it was a stray hair. I shed like a golden retriever. But it was still tickling. Moving even. I jumped up and brushed it away even harder. In the dim light I could make out a black shape crawling across my sheet. Now I was wide the fuck awake! I jumped to my lamp and grabbed my glasses. I knew it had been a giant roach on me. And I would not rest until it was found. I go looking for it and the fucker ran right at me. I freak out and grab a shoe to kill it and it magically disappears. So then, I am looking around, trying to find this thing. And I cant. So I am hunting around, frantically, when I notice something out of the corner of my eye. The roach is on the ceiling now. I try to smack it down with the shoe and it flies right at my face. I try to smack it away and knock my glasses off my face. Then I hastily put them back on and it is gone again. So I am losing it now, thinking it is on me. I start mussing up my hair and it isn’t there. So I grab the front of my shirt and shake it. The roach was on my shirt! ON my shirt! Ugh. It was like a horror movie. So I crush it with the shoe (grinding it’s guts into my quilt). And all the while I am whispering “Fuck you. You fucking roach fucker.” And then I couldn’t sleep because I was so full of adrenaline and fear. And I had to take a shower and wash my sheets and my glasses. I stayed up till 6am. It wasn’t the best beginning to my birthday.

 

Cockblock perish, Venice FL: There’s a Cockblock Parish in Venice FL? Between that and the giant rats, I think I need to visit this place.

Hollow tooth from under: From under what? The stairs? The ground? It’s like the title of a Goosebumps novel.

 

Animal Zoo Vegina (sic) xray: Okay, I have to admit, this made me curious too. It is a thing.

Is it just me or does this look a lot like the ghost trap in Ghostbusters?

 

A sugar mummy fucked by his real brother: This is just, intriguing. Is it like a sugar mummy like a sugar skull from the Day of the Dead celebration? Or are you looking for porn about rich mummies?

 

I had sex with him, in an orange grove: Internet high five!

 

Apartment maggots Maine: Can you please email me this story, search term searcher? I love maggot stories!

 

Ken doll genitalia: I think Ken’s genital bump really confused a lot of little girls. And probably some boys too. What the hell Mattel?

 

An xray skeletons that spells happy birthday: You know me all too well.

 

I feel like I’m in a Twilight Zone blackside trash song: You know what, I don’t even know exactly what this mean, but me too. Me too.

 

Why men mastermate (sic) with Barbie dolls: Men; #1 Do you guys ‘mastermate’ with Barbie dolls? #2 Why?

 

“search my vagina”: I don’t know why this is in quotes, but I feel so tempted to use this at some point in the very near future.

Example:

Co-worker: Why would anyone put mustard on spaghetti? (A Co-worker did this recently and I was baffled.)

Me: Search my vagina.