Takin' My Cookies Back

Time off for more bad behavior

I've been naughty, and I need to be spanked. Monique, are you up for the job? Just kidding.


I am taking a break for a little while though. I have a lot occupying my mind lately, and I don't want to share it with you mofos. If I keep blogging right now, I'm going to end up shitting all over myself, and I don't want to do that. When all of this drama (and you people KNOW how much I like drama...NOT) passes, I'll be back to my irreverent self. In the meantime, feel free to comment about how much you love me and think I'm fabulous and how if I didn't care then I wouldn't care so much, and all that shit. You know how to stroke me. Right? Oh. And the ass. Don't forget about the ass. 

Anyone want to guest blog? Email me. 

Underwear and the Mind

I've often thought that politicians have a raw deal. How many times during how many elections have you heard that Governor So-and-so has changed his mind about (fill in the blank) issue? Or that, Senator What's-his-face used to think (whothafuckcares) about (whatever), but feels differently now? It sucks for them that every decision they have made is documented. Every time they voted for something, it's recorded. So, if they change their mind about an issue, they are perceived to be dishonest and unreliable.

I think they are neither dishonest nor unreliable. I think they are just normal. Have you ever changed your mind? Have you ever thought one thing, only to discover upon further examination, that your way of thinking was either wrong or based on bad information? I know my opinions about many things have changed because I didn't know all of the facts in the first place. Once I learned more information, I was able to make a more informed opinion. Sometimes, that opinion changed. Sometimes it has stayed the same.

The problem arises when someone says something like, "No matter what you say, you couldn't possibly change my mind." Or, "I don't care what the evidence is, I won't listen to it, and if I do listen to it, I won't believe it." (fundamental much?)

I'm not saying it's a bad thing to make up your mind and to stick to it. No one wants to be thought of as wishy-washy. Most of the time, it's a good thing to have an opinion and stick to it. It's how we relate to other people. It's how we decide who we want to spend our time with. Of course, we want to be friends with people who share some of the same opinions. However, it's not bad if you respectfully disagree about things. I don't have the same opinions as all of my friends about everything. That would be boring. 

Now for the parable of the Apple Pie:

If I held the opinion that my apple pie recipe is the only true apple pie recipe and without following that recipe to the letter with no deviation or substitution, every apple pie that was made without my recipe would taste disgusting, and fall apart, and make you sick, and your family wouldn't respect and love you because of your nasty apple pie (giant exaggerated inhale), under what circumstances would it be acceptable for me or someone else to question that opinion? Would it be acceptable for someone to research apple pie techniques on the internet? Would it be acceptable to ask other apple pie aficionados? Do I have the right to label someone as 'anti-apple pie' just because they question my recipe? 

So, being the open-minded chef I am, I decide to try some internet person's apple pie recipe. Am I allowed to change my mind? What if the other recipe makes better sense? What if, after careful consideration and research, I decide that my recipe isn't the one true apple pie recipe? Can't I change my mind? Just because I reject my recipe as being the best, doesn't mean that if you still prefer my recipe over any other recipe, I reject you. We just have different ideas about what makes a good pie. I still respect your decision to make my recipe. 

Of course, I don't give a rat's ass which recipe you make. You could chose to make blueberry muffins instead. I don't care. Offer me one. I just might change my mind about apple pies.

What's next?

Ever since Jesus attacked me the other day, I have been so curious about what the 'next blog' is. Saturday, it was photographers. Sunday, it was mostly foodies. I got a super yummy looking recipe for coconut banana bread with candied ginger on top. I can't wait to try that one. Today, it's paper crafters. Stamps and cards and shit (snore). 

I found an odd fucking blog on Sunday. This person reused old t-shirts. OK, there's  nothing wrong with that. I have used an old t-shirt for a spit rag, window cloth, shoe-shiner. There are many things one can do with  an old t-shirt.

Did you know that you can make your own ass rags with old t-shirts? Yeah! You can just cut them into squares or strips, and put them in a basket on the back of your toilet with a spray bottle. When you need to wipe yourself after le poo, just spray and wipe. I guess you should put a dirty basket somewhere close by so you don't end up re-using the same cloth. That could get gross. 

Also! You can make snot rags out of old t-shirts. Once again, make sure there exists the proper receptacle for the besnotted rags. The blog author was sure to point out that in her family, they use white rags for the snot, and dark colors for the bum. Good idea.

Ya know, because who wants to get an ass full of snot?

Caught up - III

Want to know what fucking sucks?

I had the entire third part of my post ready to publish. All I had to do was move one line to the end of the post, and it was done. Guess what I did? 

I DELETED THE WHOLE DAMNED THING!!!!!

Fuck it. Here's the summary:

• Mel was confused because I kept everything inside because I took the church too seriously and felt super guilty that I had let him down and therefore was a terrible and unworthy mother and wife.
• He was relieved when I finally broke down the truth to him.
• What started out as 'rebellion', has turned into an incredible spiritual and intellectual journey for me.
• Once you learn something, you can't unlearn it. And once it's substantiated with reliable sources and facts, you can't pretend it's not true. 
• It wasn't rebellion. 
• I'm not the only one in the world who is going through this. 
• Shit! I'm not special. 
• I might not be special, but I do have a good ass. 

I'm home!!!

After what seemed like an eternity on the plane form LAX to BWI - over-fuckin' night with two babies taking turns screaming for 5 hours - I"m here. Safe and sound. Did I mention that I was sitting next to a big-ass man? He wasn't fat, he was just a big guy. He was all muscle, and did I mention that he was huge? I was so uncomfortable sitting next to him. I don't like touching or smelling strange people. At least he smelled good. He smelled like clean laundry. So I guess it could have been worse. He could have been huge and smelly. Smelly like the woman who sat next to me on my way from Hawaii to LA. Praise the Lord that we had a seat separating us. And I am equally grateful that I didn't start to smell her until I had a little less than an hour left in the flight. Because everytime she moved, I smelled her, um, odor. It was frikkin' naaaaasty. She smelled like a combination of old lady crotch and armpit funk. EW.

Next week will bring photos of the trip. I have a crazy-ass weekend planned. It's one of those things where I'm sitting here right now asking myself, "What the hell was I thinking?" Here's a hint: someone I know is turning 15 on Sunday. 

tight ass...

...and shoulders, and back, and hamstrings, and...

That's what happens when you don't work out for a while.

"But you are a personal trainer. You work at a gym," you say.
"I'm LAAAAAZY!" I whine, "I don't always WAAAAAANT to workout. It HUUUUURTS."
"So what kind of example are you setting?" you ask.
"A bad one, " I reply, "I don't care. So get off my case. I'm not the workout police."
"Jeeez, quit being such a bitch," you say.
"Don't call me a bitch. I'll punch you in the throat if you call me a bitch," I respond.
"I didn't say you were a bitch, I said you were being one. There's a difference," you explain.
"No there's not," I argue.
"Yes there is," you reply.
"Is not," I insist.
"Is too," you insist.
"Is-" PUNCH!! "GASP!!!", I gasp.
" Is too, BITCH!" you say.

Fine, I'll stop whining now. I have to go workout.