It's All About the Penis

Ah, yes. I know. It's been a few days, since my last post. Nine to be exact. There've been lots of excuses. School starting. Obama being in town. Sick kids. Season premier of "The Hills," Eating. Sleeping. Dumping.

Mostly, I just haven't had that many irreverent thoughts the last nine days. I know, I know. That is unusual for me.

Don't get me wrong. I continue to have irreverent thoughts internally. Crude thoughts. Disgusting thoughts. But are these blog-worthy? I'm not sure.

One thing that has caught my attention is that no matter what the subject, it all has to go back to the cock. The penis. The dick.

I was fortunate enough to attend the Obama speech at the Bronco's stadium in Denver on Thursday. I am a big Obama fan. Always have been. Going to this event was a big deal for me. I felt fortunate, elated, excited. When I feel this way, I usually want a t-shirt to show the rest of the world that "I care about something." Look at me! I am making a statement about being a lesbian, liking Bon Jovi, caring about global warming, adoring Little Kitty, or being a member of the Little Itty Bitty Titty Committee by wearing this shirt. Well, I'm not really a lesbian and don't care for Little Kitty, but you get the point.

So naturally, at the Obama event, I NEEDED A SHIRT.

Well, all the shirts to be found were dumb, unoriginal: Obama/Biden '08 (boring), Obama for Change (no duh!), I am Black and Love Obama (well, you should but I'm not so I can't wear that), Obama is my Homeboy (yeah, if I wore that I would be the uncoolest mom at school trying to look cool). So, I didn't buy one at the event. But I came home with the intention of buying the coolest t-shirt EVER on line. Turns out Cafepress has a killer t-shirt collection. There are "My Mama Loves Obama" shirts, "Barack the Vote" shirts, even "Joe'Bama '08" shirts. What I didn't expect was that the shirts would embrace the "cock" theme. I was surprised to see this:
























I'm thinking to myself: Why? Why do you need to make a Barack Obama t-shirt or a McCain t-shirt or any political t-shirt about having your cock out? I mean, what does it mean anyway to "Barack with your cock out?" Certainly it's a play on your words meaning to "Rock with your cock out." So given that, does that mean when you wear this shirt you have to unzip your fly, pull out your penis, and start rocking? Only you're not really "rocking," you're "Baracking," which I guess means you must be doing some cool, groovy black man dance with your cock out. I don't know. It just seems it would take a very special person to wear that shirt. And I don't have no cock, so I am not the person for that shirt.

I finally settled on the very boring "Yes We Can" shirt. I probably should have gone for the "Disco Dance with Your Vagina Out of Your Pants," but I passed on that one.

Topless in Colorado

My very informed husband has just let me know that Saturday August 23 is "go topless" day throughout the U.S. The go-topless society is encouraging women to organize events in their cities and to remove their shirts and bras at about noon. We, in Colorado, are lucky that the Democratic National Convention is starting because it has been suggested that we go topless "at the doors of the convention." The motivation behind this movement is to prove that women are equal to men in this arena, i.e., we should be able to go shirtless just as men do, especially in the case of the above scenario (see pictures).

I, for one, am planning on starting my day by removing the t-shirt I sleep in every night (thereby leaving me topless), going to the farmer's market, getting my hair cut, visiting the local nursing home, having my kids' friends over for a play date, then wrapping up my day at a Rockie's game. Anyone who knows me knows that my double-A cup size is certain to shock and excite any bystanders.

I think what would be most exciting on this day is if all lactating mothers could participate. No breast pads allowed. That way, we could add some dripping to the whole scene. This is also a good day for those with silver dollar sized areolas to come out of hiding as well as those with unsightly nipple hair and those who have had major breast augmentation. It should be a time of self expression as well as people-gawking, don't you think?

Indulge Me...

Okay. I know someone is reading this blog because it has had over 700 hits since I started recording hits back in June. Granted 200 of those hits are from me and Ken (just trying to beef up that number, you know) - there are still 500 of you have have visited.



You may look at my counter and see that there have been 1200 hits, but my secret is that I started the counter at 500 to make myself look cool. That may seem deceitful (kind of like the Chinese gymnastic's team not really being 16), but I could have set it to start at 2,000 and then I would have looked even cooler than I do now.



My point is, and listen carefully - the whole reason I started this blog, aside from wanting to have an outlet for my sickness, is to connect with you all.



Please!! If you are reading this blog and find yourself having any reaction at all, be it disgust, pleasure, pain, humor - please leave me a comment. I feel as if I'm writing in a vacuum!!



Also - my curiosity wants to know who is visiting - where are you from? how old are you?



Leaving a comment is so easy. If you choose the anonymous option, you don't even have to sign in.

Let's connect!!

Pugs Cover Penis

Found this gem of the Hoff:

What Makes Me, Me

Having irritable bowel syndrome sure makes things interesting. I have crapped at the spur of the moment in the most unique of places.

Today, after ingesting a breakfast of grease, lard and oil at the Village Coffee Shop, I told Ken to stop by Whole Foods so I could take a crap and maybe pick up some organic edamame. I was pretty laid back at first, but then informed him he had better run the yellow lights because the turd was peaking.

It then occurred to me that one of these days in the probably not so distant future I will crap my pants. It is inevitable. Usually when the urge strikes I am either at home or in five minutes distance of a Target or grocery store bathroom. I am guessing that one day I will be on the highway with no shoulder and no exits in sight. I will be sweating, cramping and clenching my sphincter. I will be doing my best to hold it all in, knowing that the clean up will be horrendous. I will hold it and hold it for ten miles until a see an exit for Micky Dee's. I will be ecstactic and relieved all at once. I will hold it some more and as I get off of the exit and turns towards the big "M" I will start to fantasize about how good this will feel once I am alone in the stall. I will be in the home stretch when I approach a railroad crossing. And there will be a train and I will be forced to stop and the train will be five miles long and it will be going five miles per hour and there will be cars ahead of me and behind me and we will be at a standstill and I will know. I will know that there is no escape and I am going to shit myself.

This is what I see in my future. Some people see going skydiving one day or swimming with the sharks. I see sitting in my Ford Explorer in my own waste.

And this brings me to another story - one I like to call my MEM (Most Embarrassing Moment). It was my first experience with my irritable bowel problem. I was just an unsuspecting young thing at the time and had no clue what was coming. But if you want to read that story, you'll have to tune in next time. I have to go to the bathroom.

Weighing in at 68 Pounds

Yes the Chinese have been great hosts so far in these Olympics. Or so it seems. The more I learn about the behind the scenes stuff, the more turned off I am by the Chinese need to deceitfully appear "perfect."

To the viewer, the opening ceremonies were incredible - beyond anything we had seen before. Just the fireworks alone were stunning, too amazing to be true - but, wait! You mean many of those fireworks, those seen around the city of Beijing were computer generated?? As a viewer, I am let down and feel gypped.

Then there was the sweetest little girl singing "Ode to the Motherland" while many other precious children walked into the stadium. It was enough to make you tear up and want to go hug a Chinese child - but wait! You mean that little girl was lip syncing? Could it really be true that the voice behind the lip syncing was one of Yang Peiyi, 7 years old, who has the voice of an angel but did not look the part. Apparently her buck teeth had something to do with it. So instead Lin Miaoke, age 9, got to play the part. Boy that Communist Party must really be feeling the pressure.

Moving onto the competition. I love gymnastics. With a passion. I was a gymnast myself. I know that Asians are typically of smaller stature than Americans. But have you seen the women's Chinese team? I would be shocked if any of them had one strand of pubic hair or even a nipple. Supposedly you must be 16 years old to compete. These kids are babies. Seriously, they can't be more than 12-14 years old, tops. Yet their passports would likely say they were 16 or older. Their passports are conveniently issued by the Chinese government. None of these "women" is over 4' 11". They all weigh less than 80 lbs with the lightest weighing in at 68 lbs. The Chinese are very motivated to get the gold. And they did.

To what extent should a people, a government go to impress and to win? Is it worth the deceit? Is it worth telling a 7 year old she's not cute or pretty enough to sing in front of millions? I've always been impressed by the competitive spirit, endurance and perseverance of the Chinese. These Olympic shenanigans, however, are not be admired. I'd rather get the real thing, faults and all.

No Class

I realize not everyone who reads this is an Obama fan. I, however, have been on board with Obama since the get go. I won't go into all of my reasons for thinking he could do good for our country, but I really do think he could do good for our country. I don't think McCain is a bad guy. He's experienced, he's been through it (POW and all that). Mostly I'm afraid he will simply continue the policies of the Bush-era with some minor tweaking. Kind of like Johnny Depp's version of the movie "Willy Wonka." It was jazzier, more modern and more interesting than the original, but it was basically the same underneath.


So we're at the parade to kick off the Boulder County Fair the other day. The Obama team marches by. Some hippie ass stands up and starts booing. Is it just me or is this tacky? I tell H.A. (kind of under my breath) that he doesn't have any class. Then the McCain folks come by and I tell Hippie Ass that I could boo too but I won't. Then I got my ass kicked. Well, not really, but it could have happened.

My point is - regardless of who you want to win for president, the parade route isn't "America's Got Talent" or the Rockie's game. It's a family parade and booing is not allowed (although this is an unspoken rule, it's a rule nonetheless). Would you boo the Jews for Jesus who dance by in the parade because you are a Lutheran? Would you boo the Tres Margaritas horses because you don't like tacos? I think not.

Glad I got that off my chest.

Dance Off

I saw this on Dooce, one of my fave fellow female bloggers (FFFB). Damn! This is true white-boy-funky. If he had an overbite, we'd be set. Be sure to watch the splits.

Sucky Birthday

We celebrated dear friend Erika's 40th birthday last night. What would a good 40th birthday party be without some penis humor? I'm not sure why the penis had to be a part of things, after all that might be more for a bachelorette party or a coming out party for a gay friend, but the penis always seems to bring a laugh, no matter what the occasion.


I had contemplated trying to make the penis cake that actually ejaculates a milky substance (not sperm, of course, I actually think it is milk) - I saw this on youtube. You make a cake shaped like a penis (erect) and put some tubing in it and attach a turkey baster. Basically when your friend blows out the candles, you pump the secret turkey baster and voila! a penis in action. Well, I ran out of time to figure out how to not only make this contraption but to actually bring it to the bar. So, Julie and I settled on a cake from our favorite erotic bakery "Le Bakery Sensual" in Denver. I, myself, have received several cakes from this place over the years. My favorite is the vagina cake. It is very anatomically correct. I know this because I have a vagina. When I got the vagina cake when I turned twenty-something, it was so perfect and artistic that I stored it in my freezer for years. You can see it at the website. So here is the cake we settled on for E:




















And of course we couldn't just look at the cake, laugh at the cake, take pictures of the cake and talk about the cake, we had to remove the whole package and pass it around so everyone could get their picture taken with it. I believe this shot of Erika was after consuming her fifth shot of tequila. How old are we? I don't care; it was fun.

























Happy 40th dear friend!