Fun Fact: A pig’s orgasm can last up to 30 minutes.
Am I the only one that’s pissed about this? This seems pretty unfair. What the hell, God? Is this the price we are paying for eating pigs? If we give up bacon, can we have one last for 30 minutes too?
As I was searching for pig pictures, I came across Esther The Wonder Pig. Have any of y’all heard of her? She was supposedly a “mini-pig” but turned out to be massive. I wonder if you can house-train pigs. Holy shit, she is cute. I want a pig roaming around my house, as long as they aren’t leaving massive poops on my kitchen floor. I’ve been obsessing all morning looking at her Instagram photos. Go look.
You know those assholes that are already decorating for Christmas even though Thanksgiving hasn’t even rolled around yet? What the hell, right? Can’t we take one holiday at a time? Stop trying to shove Christmas down our throats with your pretty lights, touching TV ads and joyful music. Enough is enough already.
Well… I am one of those assholes. I love all things Christmas. The earlier the better, I always say.
My love for the holidays took a horrific turn last night, though. When a 2 inch long roach crawled out of one of the decoration boxes that we had brought in from the garage. I almost had a heart palpitation. This bitch was so big I could literally hear him crawling on the floor from 5 feet away. I panicked. Fight or flight? What do I do? Am I actually able to approach and kill this thing without gagging and throwing up everywhere? If I don’t kill it, it will for sure eat my eyelids in my sleep.
Then, a 6 pound hero emerged. She raced over and chomped the roach right in half and stood guard on the box until Alex got home to take over. She just may have saved my eyelids from being eaten last night. Go adopt a homeless cat. Save your eyelids, people!
(the panic was real)
(Okay, I know she doesn’t give a crap about guarding a box for me and just wanted a tasty snack. But still — go adopt a homeless cat, anyway)
You know how parents are ultra embarrassing when you’re growing up? Maybe it’s their undying love of Birkenstocks, or when they try to say trendy things like “that’s cray” and “chillax” or even how they clip their toenails onto their plate after they finish eating. Well, at the ripe age of 28, I’ve come to the realization that this embarrassment never ends. It just evolves into something different.
(picture taken in Palm Springs, CA this past summer)
Mom: Blair, did you see this sign? Maybe you shouldn’t swim today.
Me: Uh… I’m fine, mom. No diarrhea here.
Mom: But, I saw you rush to the bathroom when I was getting water in the middle of the night. I just assumed it was urgent. Is everything working okay down there? Have you seen a doctor lately? Diarrhea can make you dehydrated. Make sure you drink more water today.
Me: Thanks, mom. I’m good. Just a routine visit in the night.
Mom: Do you remember that time you pooped in the bath tub when you were with your sister? I can think of a couple times you went in the water when you were little. I don’t know what it was… but, you liked to let loose once you hit water. I think it relaxed you. It was so weird.
What’s more humiliating: my mom deciding to loudly discuss my issues in public, or the woman who was frantically pulling her kids out of the water while they were crying, thinking there was actually a possibility I would crap in there? Thanks for the vote of confidence, lady. I’m almost 30.
When I was growing up I had an irrational fear of being humped by dogs. There were quite a few years they scared the absolute shit out of me. Not because I thought they would attack and bite me… but, I thought they would cling onto my leg and make me their bitch. I used to wake up from nightmares of dogs chasing me just so they could knock me over and help themselves to my limbs.
It seems pretty weird, I know. I actually had no idea what humping was at that time. Guys, I grew up under a rock. I was one of those awkward, overly sheltered, strange kids that liked to sit in the corner and pick my nose. When we first met, it was highly likely you’d assume I was home-schooled. (My husband was home-schooled, so I can say that without it being offensive…right?) All I knew was that a dog had tried before, and my grandpa had smacked his butt and pushed him away, calling it gross. After that, I lived in fear of it happening again.
(Layton. A dog Alex and I fostered for a few months last year)
Now, I love dogs. Hell, I love all animals for the most part. But the same fear still manifests itself now. I can’t watch a nature documentary without having the remote readily available. You bet your ass I’m changing the channel if any sort of animal mating comes on the screen. And, there is still part of me that gets a little nervous and sweaty when we are planning a trip to the zoo.I don’t want to see something that, you know… can’t be unseen. I know, I know. It’s the circle of life. It’s what animals do, they are just procreating. It’s nature. Grow up, Blair… you’re 28. That’s why it’s called an irrational fear, people.
Well, today is Veteran’s Day here in the US. Not only did my grandfather protect me from a hump-happy dog, he also kicked some Nazi ass in WWII. Thanks, Grandpa. Miss you. Please don’t roll over in your grave because I’ve included you in a post about humping.
And, thanks to all veterans for your service. I’d buy all of you lunch if I could afford to.
Fun Fact: You can catch chlamydia from a koala.
Well, there goes my dream of flying to Australia to get my cuddle on with a koala. I guess the only way I can scratch that off my bucket list is to buy this costume for Alex to wear. Kinky, eh? Furries, anyone?
I’ve been nominated for a Liebster Award. I see them floating around everywhere, and I truly have no idea what they are. What I haven’t seen around : who wins. anybody? what do I get if I win? who chooses the winner?! WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE?
So, I’ve decided I’m going to do a rebel-version of the award “rules” and just answer the questions. The only reason I’m doing gonna do it is because the person who nominated me is pretty awesome. She cracks me up. Go visit Sandra’s blog “what sandra thinks” here.
Her questions were:
How many different places have you lived and which was your favorite?
I’ve lived in 7 different states here in the US: Massachusetts, New Jersey, Connecticut, New York, Pennsylvania, Utah, and currently North Carolina. My favorite was Utah — friendly people and snow-capped mountains. Hello.
Describe yourself in 5 words or less.
My cat has her own room. (six words — but it says a lot)
Who is your hero or idol?
JK Rowling. A bit cliche, but growing up I always thought it was amazing how she could captivate an audience.
Where is your favorite place on earth?
Anywhere coffee, sweatpants, and fuzzy slippers are socially acceptable to wear all day.
What is your most-loved childhood memory?
Races with my sister to see who could poop the fastest. Kids.
What annoys you most?
When people are unwilling to see something from another’s perspective. Or anything foot related. Feet are disgusting.
If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, health concerns aside, what would it be?
Pizza or Chinese food. Not real Chinese food — the bastardized American version.
Where would you go on your perfect vacation?
A margarita and a beach is all I need.
Rather than pass it along to other people, I thought it would be fun to just ask my own question to anyone who wants to answer. I’m going to base it off my favorite question of Sandra’s.
What is your funniest childhood memory? (kid stories always make me laugh)
As an adult, sometimes I dread having to make important decisions. Unfortunately, whether we want to or not, everyone has to do it. It comes with the territory. Like today, after a painstaking hour of determining what the right thing to do was, I decided to turn down going to a “chili challenge” in favor of going running. (You know, those awesome festivals where you leave with a food baby in your stomach after you pack down 15 different flavors of the same food. This is what I imagine heaven is like.)
After I started the run, I had instant regret. It was cold, rainy, muddy, and it left me wanting something hot and comforting. Just like…. chili. Damn it. Screw you, adulthood. Stop trying to make me more responsible.
Which one would you choose? Chili tasting or a run? Relaxing or productive? It’s a hard call to make on a Sunday.
On a totally different note: I’m in the process of changing the title, domain, layout, etc. of my blog. It’s going to be some variation of “The Shameful Sheep.” Please keep your eyes peeled, guys. I don’t want to lose any of y’all.
Yesterday I had the pleasure of spending hundreds of dollars on plane tickets to attend the upcoming wedding of a cousin I haven’t spoken to in probably a decade. Now, I don’t want to sound like a Bitter Betty. I like to see people happy and in love. (Hell, I’m happy and in love and make people suffer through it. It’s only fair.) It’s simply because I don’t get the social convention of weddings. (I’m starting to feel a bit Sheldon Cooper-y, now.) I know. I’m a woman. What the hell?
I’m 100% aware that I stand in the minority on this, so bear with me. I’m not trying to offend anyone. (If you get offended anyways, that’s okay) But, I just can’t wrap my mind around the amount of money people spend on a few hours. Obviously, this doesn’t apply to those lucky jerks who don’t have to worry about it. Screw you, by the way. (kidding, kidding)
I got to be part of the happiest day of my friend’s life last year. Woohoo. When we were getting ready she cried for an hour because the linens she ordered were off one shade of pink. Her flood of tears caused her mascara to run. It got onto her dress. When she couldn’t get the stain out a full on toddler-style meltdown ensued. She didn’t like the way her mom’s hair was styled so she ripped it out and went on a rampage and threw shit everywhere. I’m serious. (Needless to say, this shit show helped it become my favorite wedding thus far) Isn’t this supposed to be a great memory? How is being this high-strung count as fun? Was all of this worth $30,000? I just don’t get it.
Yes, I’m married. We got married in Vegas. The money my parents set aside for our wedding was given to us for a down-payment on a house instead. I just couldn’t let all that money be wasted on a big party. How boring and practical, right? Blah. Even I hate us.
So, I’ve come to the realization that I’m extremely weird and just may be failing at being a female. Well… you win some, you lose some, you know?
Fun Fact: Rats laugh when they are tickled.
I wonder how weird the Petco employees would think I am if I told them I wasn’t there to purchase anything. Only to tickle their rats. Think they’d let me, or call security? Maybe I just need to take a trip to NYC.
At least I found a new goal to accomplish in November.
They are kinda cute, right? Maybe a little bit?
It’s November. The month of attaining odd goals. Not only is my husband going for the hobo-chic look by not shaving his beard, it also seems like everyone is crapping-their-pants-excited over the start of NaNoWriMo. I don’t plan on being the next bearded lady or starting a novel. So, here I am — just existing. Plopped on the couch with my cat in over-sized sweats, staring at the TV and wondering how long it’s going to take for my candy-induced bloat to go away. What a life.
Truthfully, I love November now that I live in North Carolina. But, in a November snowstorm in New York five years ago, I totaled my car in a very scary accident. Please make sure you stay safe this winter, guys… don’t let the roads make you their bitch like they did to me.
And, good luck with your novel writing, beard growing, and candy digesting. Each equally important, you know.