adventures in awkward, guest posts

 

 

Sometimes it’s completely justifiable to drink wine straight from the bottle and spend the day on the couch hiding under a pile of cats. Maybe even necessary. Doctors really should prescribe things like that. Of course, issues might arise if you don’t have a cat, but you could always just borrow your neighbor’s. Forget what the Bible said – get over there and covet your neighbor’s pussy. Guaranteed to make everyone involved feel better. 

This weekend has been dubbed sit-on-your-ass-and-do-nothing in my house. I feel like I deserve it after having such a stressful vacation. You know, a vacation from my vacation. It makes sense in my mind at least. So, instead of writing my own post, I’m going to share a guest post from a kickass blogger here – Becca Barracuda. She cracks me up. Plus, she shares an extreme love for cats and Harry Potter. She’s my spirit animal. Check her out here : The Married Cat Lady

My boyfriend and I had only been dating for about a month (if that) when we went to Panera Bread one morning after a night of drinking. (He has weird eating habits.) I had spent the night at his house, so I was wearing last night’s makeup and clothing, and I had a massive zit on my chin. And I mean massive. One of the women at work had asked me, “What happened to your face? Did you fall?”

“No, my face just hates me,” I told her, because of course, I couldn’t just leave the fucker alone. I had to mess with it. I had angered the beast.

My boyfriend and I were sitting at a small table, eating our bread bowls and minding our own business when an elderly man walked up to our table. He was at least 80 years old and came hobbling over with a cane and one of those newspaper boy hats on.

He was standing over us and said to Boyfriend, “Oh my! Are you the lucky man with this woman?”

I looked around to see what woman he was talking about. There was no way it could be me, not right now.

It had to be me, though, because there wasn’t really anyone else around (probably because most people don’t go to Panera for breakfast), and this man was hovering at our table, looking right at me.

I laughed. Boyfriend chuckled nervously.

“Stevie Wonder could see she’s a knock-out!” the elderly man continued, gesturing to me.

“Aw, that’s so nice. Thank you, sir,” I said both flattered and uncomfortable. I could feel my cheeks heating up.

“You know you’re a lucky man,” he said to Boyfriend in a slightly creepy, grandfatherly way.

“Yes sir. I do,” Boyfriend said, nodding.

Our new elderly friend turned back to me, “Are you from Tennessee?” he asked.

“What?” I looked at Boyfriend. He looked over at me and raised his eyebrows. “No…” I chuckled to cover my discomfort.

“Oh, well I thought you might be because you’re the only Ten-I-see!” He started laughing, a solid belly-laugh. Boyfriend and I chuckled along.

“Ha, ha, that’s funny! Thank you.” I then took a bite of my soup, hoping he’d notice that I wanted him to leave. (I do this often. You’d be surprised how many people don’t get this social cue. If I go back to doing whatever I was doing before you started talking to me, I am no longer interested in the conversation.)

He lingered for another couple of seconds. “Take care of her now,” he told Boyfriend.

“Yes, I will, thanks,” Boyfriend said.

“She’s a catch,” the elderly man said, nodding and looking at me.“She is,” Boyfriend smiled and looked over at me. I was pleading with my eyes, “Please make this stop.”

“You’re a beautiful woman,” he said, pointing at me.

“Thank you!” I smiled and waved as he hobbled away. “Oh my God!” I said to Boyfriend as he practically spit out his soup laughing. “That is possibly one of the most awkward encounters I’ve ever had! Look at me!” I gestured to my old makeup and wrinkled clothes.

“You’re a catch,” Boyfriend said, and then he winked.

When I got back home to my parents’ house, I immediately told my mom about it. Her response?

“And you looked like that?”

Clearly only the elderly Panera man understands true beauty.

 

 

guest posts

Today is the Lord’s day, so I thought it would a good time to refrain from writing, take some time off, and share a post about a 24 karat gold dildo. (This is the second time in a week dildos have been mentioned on my site. I think an intervention might be necessary. Send help.) The post is written by a fellow blogger, thesnarkandi and, well… I find her to be really damn funny. Read it. Enjoy it. Print it off and rub it all over your naked body. I won’t judge – we’re all friends here. 

Go visit her site and say hello : www.thesnarkandi.com

___________________________

“Readers, I have a confession to make. Gwyneth Paltrow’s GOOP newsletter has led me down a dark path. It has been a short hop to her gift guide.

I know that I have posted a similar piece before, but really, I just couldn’t help myself today.

The gift guide has become one of my main sources of levity, intellectual stimulation, and emotional sustenance. I laugh, I cry, it becomes a part of me. So, feeling a little blue today now that vacation is over and it is a cold, gray day, I took a peek at the last gift guide.

In what I am guessing is an effort to be more relatable, GP has added wonderful, practical gifts for those we love most, like the following.

space

WORLD VIEW EXPLORATION AT THE EDGE OF SPACE

“This two-part adventure begins in 2016 with a behind-the-scenes invitation to a World View test flight. The Miraval Resort in Tucson, Arizona, is home for three nights; spend your days with the flight’s chase and recovery team and tour Biosphere 2 with original crew member and World View CEO Jane Poynter. In 2017, you and five companions will experience 360° views of Earth as a high-altitude balloon lifts your luxury pressurized capsule 100,000 feet above our planet. $90,000.00”

I know what someone’s getting for Christmas this year!

Spaces are limited to a lucky ten people. I want to meet those 10 people, but more importantly, I NEED to meet the recipients. If someone is willing to spend 90 large to send you 100,000 feet in the air, you have to be a special kind of someone – and not necessarily in a good way.

Or………

mahjong

The Hermes Mah Jongh Set – $46,000  Is there any wonder as to why there is a waiting list?

Even by Gwynnie’s standards, those have to be major gifts, so if it’s stocking stuffers you need, look no further. Yes, GP has a section forNot So Basic Sex Toys.

For short money, Goop recommends the $395 Kiki de Montparnasse Droplet Necklace. “A discreet vibrating necklace that turns into nipple clamps,” the description says. Awesome. I love jewelry that multi-tasks.

I was contemplating the very affordable $20 anal beads when a particular item caught my eye. For that special someone (or yourself), you can get a 24-karat dildo $15,000.dildo

Since I feel that you can’t put a price on pleasure, I looked more closely and noticed two very important points.

  1. This item comes with discreet packaging. Well, one would hope so. My letter carrier is a very nice man, but I don’t want him coming to my door and saying, ” Here’s that solid gold dildo you’ve been waiting for!”
  2. It comes with a 10-year guarantee.

Personal note to GP – Honey, I don’t judge, but if you are worried that you might wear out a solid gold dildo in less than 10 years, something is amiss. What the hell are you doing with it? Gwynnie, talk to me, goose. I’m your girl and you can tell me. Really. Call me.

I’m also thinking that this is where that whole vaginal steam cleaning comes into play, but I could be wrong and one has nothing to do with the other. I may bring it up. I may not. I’ll just see what mood she’s in when she calls.”

___________________________

I don’t know about anyone else, but I think $46,000 for a game sounds like a good investment. I’m concerned about the vaginal steam cleaning, though. Is that a thing? Wouldn’t it burn? Or at the very least add some age to the area? Nobody needs early onset sagging. Tragic.

guest posts

It seems like the caliber of friends I’ve met through blogging is a lot higher than the friends I have in person. That’s the best part of blogging, really – the people. All my friends want to talk about in person is their marriage, kids, work, or how long it took their mother to shovel all the boringdrinkersnow off her balcony in Maine so Fido can get out to poop in case it’s urgent. Blah blah blah blah blah. Enough is enough already! For the love of God – no more. I’d rather hang out with the majority of fellow bloggers I’ve talked to over my friends in person. Crazy, right? (Hey… I’ve given y’all fair warning that I’m weird.)

Well, I’m finally getting back to sharing guest posts that I’ve been slacking on lately. And, don’t worry – this blogger is a lot funnier than my friends in real life. So, you’re welcome. Make sure you’re you visit Lady Dickson on her blog. She is piss-your-pants-funny. Or diaper. Don’t worry… this is a judgment-free zone so we embrace all differences.

Let’s get on with it then:


 

In 2013, my husband and I went on a 6 month tour of Europe. On our stop in Portugal, we decided “hey, let’s go to Morocco since it’s right there” and off to Morocco we did. Gotta love last minute decisions like that. Here’s the thing, I’ve been to third world. I went to Thailand in 2008 and it was a friggin blast. But this seemed like a completely different kind of third world. Whilst in Thailand, I could use the public bathrooms whenever I wanted without paying. Coming over to Morocco, and a lot of Europe I might add, I had to start paying to urinate.

What the fuck is this nonsense. I ate your food, I drank your water, I paid my bill, and now you want me to pay to extract all dis bidniz you supplied out of my body? That shit cray.

Naturally, as I am not used to doing so, I forget to bring my change purse with me to the bathroom of this one rooftop restaurant located in the centre of Marrakesh. Thankfully, there was no one on guard to give money to so I figured this was a rare free washroom. SCORE. I know where I’m coming from now on to drop trou.

During my healthy dump, I hear a woman screaming at someone in Arabic and think “oh man, I would hate to get yelled at in a language I don’t know.” Turns out, she was yelling at me but I was completely clueless of it. The second I stepped out of the stall, she was all up in my grill pointing at her dish beside the door. Naturally, I looked like a deer caught in headlights and threw my hands in air and kept repeating “I don’t know what you’re saying…” Obviously, I needed to leave some money in the dish beside the door.

MY BAD.

Now I had to somehow tell her I don’t have money on me.

Me: I don’t have any money on me.
Woman yelling in Arabic.
Me: I don’t….have any…money on me. *flipping my pockets inside out*
Woman yelling in Arabic.
Me: Not…sure where to go from here.

So I just try to leave but she barricades herself against the door. Perfect, this is going well. I just fold my arms, look at her, and tap my foot on the ground. With how long this is taking, my husband must be thinking I am murdering this toilet.

Finally, I had enough of this. I started screaming my husbands name in a zero percent passionate way. I mean, this was not the womans fault. Some white chick who doesn’t know how to follow the rules popped a squat all willy nilly and girlfriend needs to get PAID. I was willing to pay her, I JUST NEEDED MY GODDAMN COIN PURSE.

After screaming my husbands name for about a minute, she finally gives in. She moves out of the way and lets me out of the bathroom. As I’m leaving, she starts yelling at me again and I just sprint up the stairs to the roof, grab my husband and we gone.

My coin purse never left my side after that..

ladydicksonRight before the hostage shituation.

guest posts

Get your fat pants on and lose those shirts, people … it’s time to let your nipples free for WTF Wednesday! Wooooo. Okay, that’s not really a thing. It just seemed like it would be fitting for this post. I think you’ll agree after you finish reading. (With the ‘what the fuck.’ Probably not the nipples. Nipples really have nothing to do with anything. Sorry, pervs.)

I’m excited to share a post written by an awesome blogger ’round these parts – Charlotte Graham (go on and visit her – I’ll wait.) I’m going to go out on a limb here, and say – if we knew each other in person we would probably be best friends (until I scared her away, at least.) She’s a runner, gamer, Panthers fan, writer, and a nerd with style. Girl crush alert. (I can say that without it being creepy, right? Since I’m married? Right?!) Let’s get on with it, then!


 

Today while walking to work I found an abandoned voodoo doll on a park bench. True story. If it weren’t negative a billion degrees outside and if I had actually been able to feel my fingers, I would have snapped a photo. Alas.

But, the day was soon to be filled with even more creepy dolls, when a friend posted the following on Facebook:

CharlotteGraham
​Creepy AF, amirite?!

My first question when I saw this was, “do parents really save all their kids’ baby teeth??” I had always just assumed that dear old Mom and Dad threw them in the trash once the Tooth Fairy made her rounds. I mean really, if you’re a parent and you hang onto your kids’ teeth and don’t do something weird like this with them, what do you do? Present them all in a fancy box upon your child’s 18th birthday? Here ya go, son. I thought about getting you a car for graduation. But here are your baby teeth instead!

But now apparently you can turn those baby teeth into a scary-ass doll!

Now, I’m not a parent, so far be it from me to say if this would actually be sentimental were it my child’s leftover baby teeth — but damn!

I think dolls in general are creepy, but these human teeth monster dolls take it to a whole new level. Folks, this is what I like to call Grade A Nightmare Fuel. Have fun sleeping tonight.


 

Guys, this should go without saying – teeth monster plushies are not okay. 

guest posts

Everyone goes through times when they are put into awkward situations. Sometimes you can run away while screaming bloody murder. Sometimes you have to adapt and deal with that patronizing asshole in accounting. Lifeam I right?

Today I’m sharing a story from hotmessmemoir – a kickass blogger here who has a job where she just doesn’t belong. (Make sure you take a visit to her blog. It’s hilarious.) Read it. Laugh about it. Print it out and rub it all over your naked body. I won’t judge. We’re all friends here.


I wear an A at work (please google the Scarlet Letter movie if you’ve not read the book or saw Demi Moore’s movie).  Aside from a few good seeds, it’s taken months just to get a smile when I say “good morning” or “hello” to a co-worker. I’m not holding my breath for a verbal salutation.

See, I am a stiletto wearing fashionista working for a Southwest company that sells boots, tact supplies and Southwest fashion. I’m the Assistant Buyer for cowboy boots. Yes, cowboy boots. It’s o.k to laugh, I did too.

To be “part of the club” you have to live the lifestyle. Living the lifestyle means either A. ride a horse consistently B. live on a farm C. own livestock or D. a combination of any of the 3. 98% of my co-workers are covered under one or all of these. When I asked them if my former collection of My Little Ponies counted, they were not  amused. When I told them I had livestock and it consisted of a 12 lb, 13 year old chihuahua, they removed themselves from the conversation.

During one of my first weeks, I struck up a conversation with a co-worker. She always wore a smile, was always bubbly and was approachable. When we walked out to our cars one night we made the usual pleasantries.

“So what are you and Tray doing this weekend?” I asked.

“We are going heifer shopping,” she said as if she had just told me she was going to see Star Wars.

“Come again?”

“We are going heifer shopping. Cows.” She explained remembering that I was a foreigner.

I suddenly brought my immature brain back into adulthood and remembered that heifer is the name of a young female cow. But then immature brain could not resist the opportunity and responded with, “If you want to go heifer shopping there is a really seedy bar down the way….” Oh my God, did I just say that?

She was polite when responding to my completely inappropriate comment and just faked laughed.

Another time I tried to be “part of the club”. I found my one article of horse paraphernalia I owned, a shirt from a mud volleyball tournament to raise money for epilepsy.

My father passed away 13 years ago from epilepsy. Every year my younger sister would raise money and organize a team for mud volleyball. Because our father looked like Rocky and even went as Rocky Balboa one year for Halloween, she selected Italian Stallions as the team name. I thought about playing in the tournament. I used to LOVE playing in it as a child every year but then I thought ‘nah, I’ll get too dirty, here’s $25 for a shirt’.

I really don’t know why the “addition” was added to the graphic shirt but regardless, it had a horse on it so I threw it on fully intending to wear it to work. Here it is:

hotmessmemoirToo much?

I texted my sister this picture. She works in HR and below was her response:

By all that is holy, I am begging you NOT to wear that to work. If you wear that to work you will be fired. DO NOT WEAR THAT. Do you copy?

I growled under my breath, rolling my eyes. She was right. It was a little much but I didn’t have any other horsey thing to wear. In the end I changed as I like to keep the electric on and food in my children’s bellies.

So that is one of many stories of attempting to fit in. Stories are so easy when you are the outsider with a sense of humor ;).


 If you’ve emailed me a submission for a guest post  – I will be getting to yours soon. Thanks for your patience/badassness 🙂 I would share my wine with you if I could. But not the cheesecake. No… definitely not the cheesecake.

guest posts

I know I’m not the only one around these parts that enjoys a good poem about bumpin’ uglies. So, I thought it would be fun to share a piece from one of my favorite people on WordPress. She’s one of the nicest people here and she is hilarious. If you don’t know who pixieannie is already, make sure you visit her blog. You’ll find an amazing person there – a fitness lover, animal lover, an amazing photographer, she’s got tattoos all over and has the best workout clothes. (Seriously… can we switch lives, please?)

bedfire

Here’s her short & hilarious poem:


I set fire to my bed last night
the first time I shagged Gary
my ma and pa came in the room
and said that we should marry

I remember from the science class
that friction made stuff hot
bugger me, I’d not have guessed
but blamed it on the pot

roll on three years later
and we have a kid name Boo
he’s a proper little ‘ooligan
filled the petrol tank with glue

I guess it’s safe to say now
that we shag at a slower pace
but just in case the spark ignites
there’s a water bed in case


 

guest posts

Sometimes it’s nice to have a friend that’s a cop so you can ask them burning questions like: ‘would you take diarrhea as an excuse for speeding home?‘ I don’t know any cops in real life – I think they can sense the crazy and steer clear of me until they get the phone call that forces them to my doorstep. Because they know it’s coming someday. Lucky for me, I found a cop-friend here in blogland.(And yes, I asked him about the diarrhea & speeding question.) He runs a humor blog that chronicles the random and crazy shit that goes on during his shift. It’s like watching the crazies on the show Cops, but reading it instead. It’s hilarious and semi-alarming (because people are so dumb.) But… don’t laugh at people’s idiocy, guys. That would be wrong. So very wrong. (Says the chick that loves laughing at idiots)

So, without further ado –  here’s a post from my hilarious cop-friend, Badge415, about a fellow officer’s run in with a used dildo:


 

“One night I pulled up to a traffic collision scene in which a vehicle had collided into a wall. The suspect vehicle was an SUV and its rear door was open. I walked up to the vehicle and saw an officer frantically rubbing his hands with an alcohol wipe. In fact, he was rubbing his hands so fast I thought the friction was going to start a fire.

hammer-pic

He had a worried look on his face as he said, “Do you have any hand sanitizer.”

“No. Why?”

He then walked over to the suspect vehicle and showed me something that looked like a pink hammer. As I got closer, I saw it was a sex toy.

“What the heck is that?” I asked.

He said, “I was patting him down and I pulled that out of his pocket. The guy told me he used that on his girlfriend tonight.”

The officer wasn’t wearing gloves at the time and I busted up laughing. I laughed so loud someone would’ve wondered what was wrong with me. The poor officer didn’t think it was that funny though. He actually had a traumatized look on his face and I couldn’t blame him. I then took my phone out and snapped a picture of the thing.

Of course, the story was told over and over again after that. Everyone had the same look of shock and disgust when they saw the picture and heard the story.

download-1

A few days later, I was in Target when I saw this curling iron on one of the main aisles. I instantly thought of the cop when I saw it. I sent him a picture hoping he would think it was as funny as I did. Luckily he was cool about it.

This was just one of those stories that had to be told.”

Make sure you visit him. He has some great stories on his blog


 

Lately, I’ve been thinking about having guest posters here once in awhile. I don’t have the mental capacity to post every day (seriously, how do y’all do it? I can sit down after 2 days of not posting, and still draw a blank.) So, I thought it would be cool to share some funny stories from other people. Maybe you have a blog you don’t want to write inappropriate stories on, or it would be too off topic, or… you just want to share something hilarious with the kickass readers here. Well… I enjoy a good sex, poop, any embarrassing or funny personal story in general. I don’t run a classy joint, contrary to popular belief. Okay, I’m pretty sure nobody believes that. 

(I’ve never done this before, and I’m feeling very much like the new-kid. Are there protocols? Common courtesies? Secrets I should know about? Help a girl out.) If you have a story you want to share, you can email me @ theshamefulsheep@gmail.com