BloggingDangerously

Bitter Irony

I bought 15 books on Amazon. 

My son lost the one book that he needed for school. 

I went to Borders to get a second copy. 

They didn't have one because 75% of their shelves were empty because they are going out of business becaue people buy all of their books from Amazon.

 

Observations on the Royal Wedding...

1. Until the Queen assigns a Dukedom (Duchy?) to William (likely following the wedding,) Kate will be officially known as Princess William of Wales.

2. The Royals cost Great Britain $60M/year.  I thought that they were self-funding.  If not?  Then all the merchandising for this wedding - the plates, the ring, the exclusive TV rights are decidedly unregal.

3. Exactly half of all tweets about the Royal Wedding say something like, "I could not care LESS about the Royal Wedding." 

4. SlimFast is promoting #RoyalWedding tweets.  Am I supposed to think that if I lose 15lbs I'm going to marry a prince?

5. When Diana married Charles, her uncle had to come out and swear that she was a "bonafide virgin." The only comment I've seen about Kate's character was how she was a WIZ for slimming down and getting herself photographed in a sexy bikini when Will broke up with her.

6. I saw a preview of the Royal Wedding that showed a handful of 70+year old women sitting around wearing crowns.  They looked like damn fools.

7. Kate is thin. Wouldn't it be more appropriate for Rogaine to be promoting the #RoyalWedding?

8. I got up at 4am to watch Prince Charles marry Diana and just LOOK at how that turned out.  I'll do these young royals a favor and stay in bed.

9.  Apparently the brits have had much fun mocking Kate for waiting 8 years for this day by calling her "Waitey Katey.'  after tomorrow her office has instructed them to call her "Now who's Laughin' Cathrine."

10. There has been much speculation regarding the "Wedding night" since Kate and William have lived together for several years.  I'm not sure how they'll be celebrating their nuptuals but I can tell you how they WON'T be celebrating. (Why is the Bride Smiling?)

Paternal Pride

Ah spring!

Baseball season has begun.  And many young men are playing this team sport for the very first time.

Last night at t-ball I saw a 5 year old boy run up to the bench for his first game wearing what appeared to be a torpedo between his legs.

All I could picture was the conversation at home that went something like this:

MOM: Little Johnny needs a cup for t-ball.  This purchase is ALL you.

BIG JOHNNY: *Deep grunt* No son of MINE is wearing an extra-small!

 

Just when I think they can't get any more disgusting...

Last night was the start of kindergarten lacrosse.  I'm a coach.  It's my third year coaching kindergarten lacrosse so I'm kind of an expert; keep the kids moving, remind them that their sticks are lacrosse sticks - not lightsabers and don't show fear.

I've had some crazy things happen in my three years.  Of course there have been the typical bumps in the eye, the kids who ask me - in the middle of a 10 acre field - where they can get water.  And the kid who asked me what was for dinner.

But last night just as we were getting started, this adorable little girl that I've known since she was born lined up to do a drill then turned her head to the left and threw up.

"HONEY!" I called to her, "Did you just puke?"  She nodded.  I searched the crowd for her mom.  She was front and center and had already seen what had happened.  She nodded to me that she would take over from here and I turned back to the other 15 animals children.

When practice was over I saw the woman's older son searching for someone.  He's one of my son's best friends so I asked him.  "Did your mom tell you she was taking your sister home because she threw up?"

"Yeah," he told me.  "I'm going home with someone else."

"Ok." I said, and turned to go.

"Wait!" he said.  "Can I see the puke?"

 

G-Spot: The MiniVan and the Vibrator

As a "liberated woman" of some repute myself I could TOTALLY see one of you getting me to do this!  This story is from one of my favorite tweeps, Lori.  Lori seldom blogs about vibrators at In Pursuit of Martha Points. Her tweets are slightly less G-rated at @marthapoints.

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The following is a true story. This happened when I was still married to Husband 1.0 and my son was about 4 years old.

It is generally known that I live in California - Land of opportunity, sunshine, obscene property taxes and loose women.

Apparently.

Or perhaps, “liberated” women would be the better term, and it seemed that I was One Of Them.

A friend in Texas was going through what we call a “dry spell.” And by dry spell I mean she was considering re-enrolling in a 10^th grade health class because the illustrations would get her closer to male anatomy than she’d been in some time.

She needed some help. Specifically, the battery powered kind.

Living in a small town in Texas, there was nowhere to buy such a thing. And she couldn’t risk ordering something and having it delivered as she was staying with her parents to save money while she finished up a degree.

She loved her parents and did not want either of them to have a stroke upon the arrival of a delivery from “Judy’s Juicies” or “Harry’s House O’ Hymens.”

So who did she turn to in her 4 minutes of need?

Right. Yours Truly, the Liberally Loose California Floozy. Because everyone knows that in California you can buy a dildo on the produce aisle next to the cucumbers.

We are just that damned progressive.

The friend asked for me to do her this one small favor as a birthday gift and really, how can you deny a friend her god-given right to adult toys? No. I would make it happen.

So to speak.

In the town next to mine is a lovely “women’s intimacy” shop. It sells delicately sweeping lingerie, texts on spiritual physicality (complete with naughty illustrations), feathers, racy board games and yes, the nitty and the gritty for reaching the high notes à cappella.

We went as a family.

We were headed out to the little town anyway for some outing, and I requested that we stop at the shop. The husband and the four-year-old stayed in the minivan.  Yes, a minivan. Because when you’re shopping for things in the cuffing and buffing industry, you really must show up in an Island Blue swagger wagon with seven cup-holders.

I walked in to the shop and scanned. Lingerie, books, feathers…where was the section for things that needed electricity?

Then I noticed a heavy wooden bureau. I crossed the room and opened the top drawer. Flavored condoms, silk cords and satin blindfolds. I opened the middle drawer. Vibrators, anatomically exaggerated dildos and fuzzy handcuffs. Ah ha! Clearly this was the drawer I wanted. But curiosity got the best of me and I opened the bottom drawer.

I did not recognize a single piece of equipment in the array before me.

Ok, back one drawer up.

There were many colors and styles to choose from. What would she like? Leopard print? Pink glitter? Probably not the glow-in-the-dark green. It’s not like she’s directing aircraft.

I selected a tasteful tiger-stripe and walked to the counter. The young lady salesclerk asked if I wanted batteries. I said, “Well, it wouldn’t be a very nice gift without them, would it?”

She gave me the “Oh, we’re pretending it’s for someone else” look.

Whatever, honey. Just take my damned credit card.

She put the tiger-striped Ode to Joy in the bag with the batteries and a brochure about the shop. I got back in the driver’s seat and handed the paper bag to the husband who was seated in the middle next to the boy. We drove without incident back to the town where we lived. A couple miles from home, the husband looked in the bag to see what I’d selected and noticed the brochure. He pulled it out and started to read. A minute or so later he cried out, “Oh my god!”

“What??” I cried, turning behind me to see what was so fascinating.

And then…CRASH!

I rear-ended a delivery truck.

No one was hurt. Our minivan was damaged far worse than the truck. The driver of the truck felt badly for stopping so quickly. I felt bad for letting myself get distracted by badly illustrated brochure porn.

And the thought that repeated over and over in my mind was, “I just got into a car accident because of a vibrator.”

As it was the weekend, we left a message with our insurance agent to report the accident. When the claims adjuster called me back on Monday he asked, “Are there circumstances that you’d like us to consider regarding the accident, or would you like to admit fault?”

I considered documenting in a claim form that the reason for the accident was because I’d been distracted by an erotically themed brochure I got from the adult store when I was buying a tiger-striped vibrator for a sexually frustrated friend who lived in Texas.

“My fault,” I said. “Totally, completely and absolutely my fault. Nothing to explain here. Not a damned thing.”

So my friend got her needs discreetly met and I got to pay more for my car insurance.

Let’s see you turn that into a slogan, Mr. Ad Exec.