Is That Candy?

Standard

I’ve had my tongue pierced for a number of years. Originally I wore crazy metal tongue “rings” that looked like lady bugs, skulls, and even the shoe from Monopoly. Some were rainbow coloured and some were just plain purple. I had one that looked like Barney the Purple Dinosaur. Except I chipped my teeth on them fairly often and eventually my friend (the dental hygienist) recommended that I put a plastic “ring” in. Now I have a metal bar with a neon green bead on top and a half orange, half blue glittery ball on the bottom.

Toddlers and kids think that my top green bead is candy.

And toddlers and young children are weirdly quick for not having fully developed motor skills.

This leads into the other week when I went out for coffee with a friend who I haven’t seen in a long time. Of course we haven’t seen each other because she’s now a mother of three kids, two boys (5 and 4) and a girl (2). Oh, and by “coffee” I mean that she got coffee and I got a bottle of water because we went to McDonalds so that her kids could play in the play place while we caught up. I was totally ok with this because I think the play places you see in some fast food joints are awesome and I will naturally play on them with the kids until an employee threatens to kick me out of the restaurant to make me behave myself.

After I was threatened with security, I settled down to actually chat with my friend. Her already tired 2 year old daughter wound up sitting in my lap so she could fiddle with my lip ring while she sucked her thumb and went to sleep. I loved the kid because I’m always a fan of fellow thumb suckers, so I let her chill and fall asleep while my friend threatened her other two off spring with time-outs for boxing with each other and trying to involve the other kids playing with them.

We were in the middle of talking about grocery shopping (I actually enjoy grocery shopping) when I hear the sweetest little angel voice say “Candy?” right before the hand of the Devil slammed itself into my mouth and grabbed a hold of my neon green tongue bead. “Momma! Candy!” she screamed while I tried to slurp my tongue down my throat to avoid having it torn out by this demon spawn.

At first I was successful in pulling my tongue away from her greedy little, candy snatching hands. But then she used her other hand to reach into my mouth and push my mouth open so she could use her other hand to try and grab the neon thing that she thought was candy. I didn’t want to hurt her so all I could do was try to lean away from her while trying to hide my tongue in the darkest recesses of my mouth so that she couldn’t grab it and yank it out.

I lost that battle after about five seconds and had no choice by to lean back forward as this devil child tried to pull the candy off my tongue so she could eat it.

This all happened in under fifteen seconds. That’s how long it took for my friend to realize that the kid and I weren’t playing a fun game, but I was instead being tortured by her child trying to rip my tongue from my mouth so she could get a taste of this yummy green candy she saw. Thankfully, my friend saved me before any permanent damage was done.

Less thankfully, that kid now loves me because she thinks I have a never ending Gobstopper in my mouth.

The First Thing I Learned as a 27-Year Old

Standard

d65478ec02a168b5813e60df1107c463Some of my favourite memories from my teen years were the few nights that I had managed to be out late with my friends on a weekend. Those nights for me were few and far between, but my most favourite nights were the nights that ended with Denny’s. I’m a freak for cheese. In fact, I’m the sort of person that will put $10 worth of cheese into a grilled cheese sammich because cheese is that gloriously awesome. So you can see why I’ve always loved Denny’s mozzarella sticks from the moment my friends introduced them to me. To the teenage me who had a metabolism that wouldn’t quit and an ass that you could bounce a quarter off of (I tested this many many times), these things were harvested in Valhalla and then mailed to Earth by Hermes after being taste tested and approved by God herself.

But there was one thing my friends did, that I never understood until today.

You see, once the choice was made to get these glorious God sticks of yum, my friends would repeatedly say “Smegma” all night. Just “smegma”, confirmed by a “smegma” over and over again. I thought smegma was just another way of saying “cheesy orgasm in your mouth good times” because…well, because the only time we spoke of smegma was when it was time to go and get Denny’s mozzarella sticks. All night I would hear about smegma, smegma, smegma, smegma! And all night I would be looking forward to eating some cheesy God sends. So smegma was a good thing.

Until early this morning I learned what smegma actually was. I was talking to a friend before going to sleep and the word smegma came up and I naturally started babbling about cheese sticks. It was the disgusted noises that clued me in that smegma was not what I thought it was. Smegma was…

smegma

smeg·ma

  [smeg-muh]  

noun

a thick, cheeselike, sebaceous secretion that collects beneath the foreskin or around the clitoris.
Yeah, the very first thing that I learned as a 27-year old is what smegma is. I also learned that I am never going to be able to eat Denny’s mozzarella cheese sticks with as much joy as I used to…because smegma. Yum right?
In closing, I say this to those friends: Thanks, guys.

 

Betsy – The One Who Has Ruined Me For Men

Standard

I recently saw this ad on Facebook telling me that if I signed up for this one service I would see the three barriers that keep me from having a healthy and happy relationship. Naturally I jump right at the ad and started mocking it. After I made fun of it’s pathetic attempt to get my credit card info for its boring information, I started thinking about what actually might be my barriers to a great relationship. That’s when I thought of my dog, Betsy.

Meet Betsy:

295633_962251713853_388257010_n

 

Betsy is my families German Shepard-Border Collie cross. She’s 10 years old and is about the happiest and most loving dog anyone can ask for. The only thing Betsy seems to want in her life are treats and love. And she returns those two things by always greeting you with a smile and kisses. She also does what I call “The Doodle Dance” where she gets so happy to see you that she dances and spins on the spot while she waits for you to get close enough so you can jump on her.

Today I was outside playing with Thumper and Betsy and had this conversation with Betsy while Thumper dug another hole in our yard:

Me: Here ya go, Ba-Bets! Bones for you!

Betsy: Bones! For me! Awww! I love you!

Me: Kisses first!

Betsy: *licks my face* I do love you! Scratch my ears!

Me: You’re so pretty Bets. I love you. Do you love me?

Betsy: I love you! Now scratch my tummy!

Me: Tummy rubs! If I grow old and ugly, will you still love me?

Betsy: I’ll always love you! *gives more kisses*

That’s as far as we got in the conversation because Thumper tried to steal Betsy’s treats and she had to go beat her younger sister up for being a brat.

I love Betsy. Over the years she’s loved my family unconditionally. She’s sprawled out on our lawn with me late at night while I contemplated the universe and she got an extended belly rub. She’s watched me rig our front yard hose so that I could drag a sprinkler onto the roof and she’s rolled down the hill with me just for funsies. Betsy has been around for tears, laughs, and every single time I’ve come home from school. She even saw me come home with my first car and then she saw me come home for the first time after I crashed my car.

But most importantly? Betsy has slept with me on cold winter nights when I’ve had a serious case of the farts and she didn’t complain. She just snuggled up beside me and went to sleep despite the fact that it smelled like something had crawled into my ass and died inside of two month old coleslaw. She’s seen me bolt up in the middle of the night with mascara smeared across my face as I bolt to the bathroom with a bleeding nose. My dog has seen me at my absolute worst and most disgusting and she loves me still.

And this is why Betsy has ruined me for men. I know that no matter how hard I look that I will never find someone that I want to spend the rest of my life with who will just be happy to snuggle me even though I’m farting death scent out my ass. I know that I can never meet a man who will see me come home after crashing my car for the first time ever and he’ll be happy to see me and give me kisses. Betsy was just damn happy that I was home, never mind that my car was kind of dented. Then on the nights where we were laying under the stars and contemplating the universe? Betsy always let me make the wish whenever we saw a falling star.

Thumper – The Bear Stealer

Standard

Ever since I was little, I’ve always needed something soft to rub on my nose when I go to sleep. My current something soft is a hand puppet that looks like a bear. His name is Lucifer. According to everyone except me, that bear isn’t so soft anymore. However, I love it. My dog, Thumper, loves it too.

Meet Thumper:

1477960_10100205632124533_1830476038_n

 

She’s a fourteen month old Rhodesian Ridgeback-Bull Mastiff cross. She’s currently around the 100 lbs marker and is almost bigger than my mom. And like I said before, she loves my bear too. Any chance that she gets she’ll steal my bear and chew on him. Which pisses me off because then he’s all slobbered upon and I have to wash him. Plus he gets bite marks all over him from where Thumper rips into him.

So I’ve had to be smart when it comes to leaving my room. The bear has to be out of reach of Thumper, and I can’t trust her alone with him ever.

Thumper has also gotten smarter about stealing him. The one thing that she does is she cuddles up in bed with me while I’m sleeping. She waits for me to be fully asleep and then she slowly creeps up the bed. She did it this morning when she thought I was asleep. I barely cracked open my eyes and watched her crawl forward until she was close enough to stretch her neck forward to grab him. She had her lips peeled back off her teeth and her mouth was just barely open as she slowly inched her snout closer and closer to my bear. As she was just carefully opening her mouth the slightest bit to grab my bear and pull him away, I opened my eyes flicked her nose. She knew she was caught and returned to the foot of the bed to plot and plan.

And this is how my mornings go with Thumper when we’re home alone. We have a lazy morning in bed with me sleeping and reading, and her sleeping and plotting. She tries to steal the bear and I protect the bear from her slobbery mouth. Eventually we get out of bed to do other things that people and dogs do during their day. Thumper will also eventually try to sneak into my room to steal the bear which I will have placed out of her reach.

I’m home!

Standard

After a long bus ride, a basketball game (we lost), a pit stop for a snack (my sister and I eat a lot), I finally got home last night. Then my mom made us bannock (friend bread!) burgers and I’ve basically been in heaven since then.

For whatever reason, I always sleep better when I’m home. Never mind the fact that my hobo hole has the comfier of my beds, I just always sleep better at home. So rather than writing or doing anything productive today, I slept. A lot.

So here is a picture of the view outside of my house. In the summer time.

240_517520274223_8068_n (1)

Hopefully tomorrow I will do something productive. Or at the very least I will hassle my parents to borrow the car and then I will hassle my friends so I can go visit them. One of the goals I always have is to be less of an asshole friend that my friends only see once a year. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

These Things Exist

Standard

photo (8)Yes. It’s wine with free fake eyelashes with purchase. I was actually tempted to buy these things because I’ve never put on fake eyelashes and I figured the best way to do it would be while drunk. Except it wasn’t the best freebie I’ve seen attached to alcohol so I didn’t do that.

photo (7)

 

AC/DC wine is a thing now. I briefly go excited and thought about buying a bottle, but there was no “Thunderstruck” so my panties dried up drier than a popcorn fart in the desert and I moved on with my life. You can actually buy these wines in a gift set too. If that’s what you’re into.

Or you can be like me and be happy that you drank a bottle of champagne with a good friend for brunch and decide that was enough alcohol for the day even though soaking gummy bears in whiskey sounded like a really good idea.

 

It’s A Penis

Standard

74336_933994107323_15241762_n

 

I peel my oranges like this. All. The Time. I do it because I’m 8 and saying or typing the work “penis” makes me giggle. I realize that now that I am almost 27 years old I should stop giggling at things like this, but I seriously doubt that will happen.

I fully plan on being that 27 year old woman who still sucks her thumb and makes her orange peel look like a penis and balls. Thankfully Freud has largely been discredited because he would have a fun day at the office analyzing this whole thought process that I have going on right here.

In my defense: I had my first lab exam of the semester tonight. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, but at the same time it wasn’t exactly easy. Which is why my daily post is more or less a picture of an orange peel from an orange that I peeled.