Puberty

Sam, age 11, had the puberty talk at school yesterday, given by a male school counselor from a local elementary school. I knew what the talk would entail because I had been given a preview at the school.

Two great statements came out of the whole thing:

Me: Sam, did you ask any questions after the presentation was over?

Sam: Well, you could put questions in a question box and I thought about asking, "why do all men want big balls, but I decided it wasn't appropriate."

Good call, Sam. And I didn't know all men wanted big balls, but whatever

Sam: So they told us about wet dreams. And you know what Eric (friend of Sam) said? He said that he's been having those since he was three and that he's had 180 of them.

Rock on, Eric!! 180 WDs over eight years comes to 22.5 WDs a year, or 1.875 a month, which is pretty impressive for an elementary school kid.

Several Firsts

Erika and I just got back from Vegas. Every time we go, we have a "first." This time there were several firsts, some I can't repeat. But my favorite was when Erika got propositioned. She was offered $20,000 if she would go up to "the Suite" at the Hard Rock with this guy we met (who called himself Vegas Dave) and take off her clothes for two minutes. No joke. It was nice to have an extra $20K to gamble with.

Another first was when we were at the Trader Vic's outside bar on the Strip. This time I was being harassed by some gold chain wearing dude from Santa Monica. He was possibly the most egotistical dickhead I've ever met. He said that he had gotten on a double decker bus the night before and that all of these drunken girls were begging him to let them give him blow jobs. I don't buy it. Only in Vegas.

The next first was when we were at this same said bar, drinking vodka tonics, and this Brit dude, who we nicknamed Austin Powers, gets up and wows the bar with his dancing abilities. Moments before this, he had a bucket on his head and was dancing with his pants down. I wish I hadn't missed that photo op.



This may not be funny in this video, but it was hilarious in real life. Truly. So if you haven't been to Sin City lately, you're missing out. You need to go and experience your own set of "firsts."

You Pulled Out WHAT?

Yes I am still alive. Get off my case. I am trying to keep three blogs afloat, and this one gets neglected at times. I did get some good material yesterday, however, and wanted to share it.

So I'm getting my hair cut. My stylist is very young (a good 20 years younger than me), newly married, trying to get pregnant. We get along well. We're talking about girl stuff (like how I - sorry guys - got my period in Mexico and had to find tampons immediately and was using sign language to ask where to buy tampons since I don't speak Spanish. Tampon in sign language is pretty funny or at least the version I made up). So stylist tells me that the esthetician at the salon (one who removes hair by waxing) was doing a Brazilian wax on someone (for those who don't know, the Brazilian is where ALL hair down there is removed, thereby returning the person to how they looked when they were eight years old - you can also opt to leave a "landing strip" in the front if you wanted).

So the waxing starts and the woman who is getting waxed is laying on her stomach. The waxing lady applies the wax and goes to rip it off, not realizing that she has somehow applied some of the wax onto this woman's tampon string. So you guessed it - she rips off the wax and in the process - pulls out the tampon.

I can hear you saying "Ewwww" all the way over here in Longmont. Isn't that just disgusting? I could never be an esthetician because 1) I don't like other people's hair 2) I wouldn't want to remove any one's pubic hair 3) I don't like any else's tampons.

Happy hump day!

One Large Hole

So what do you think of the octuplet mom? A disaster waiting to happen, is what I think. Or maybe I should say, "a disaster already happening." From her big lips, to her messy house, to her 911 call after losing one of her children, to her worn out and elastic uterus, this is full fledged craziness. Regardless of your opinion on Ms. Suleman, check out this video.

Ass on Glass

Sometimes I wonder where my son, 11, gets this stuff. Today he asks me, "When our copier/printer gets really old and we're going to get rid of it, can I sit on it and copy my butt?" I was surprised at the amount of thought he had put into this. I have to give him credit for planning ahead and for resisting instant gratification.

Or has he resisted? I had to ask him over dinner, "Seriously. You can never do that while I'm not home. If you sit on the copier glass, you'll break the while thing. Please tell me you haven't already done it." He's laughing hysterically, promising me, "No, I've never done it."

Then he says, "Wouldn't it be so funny if you went into he school really late at night and saw Sharon (school secretary) sitting on the copier? I have to say it's a funny image. I mean who doesn't want to copy their body parts and see how they come out?

This is a confession from a real copier repairman:

Photocopier supplier Canon is warning customers to take better care of their office equipment during the Christmas period, claiming that the festive season traditionally leads to a 25 percent hike in service calls due to incidents such as the classic backside copying prank.

Such a stunt, a mainstay of the office party, often results in cracked glass on the copier, with 32 percent of Canon technicians claiming to have been called out to fix glass plates during the Christmas period after attempts to copy body parts went wrong.

Just food for thought. Guess Sam isn't the only one intrigued.

Sleep Walking Dog

I LMAO when I saw this short video. Not sure why, it just struck me very funny. Thanks to dooce.com for posting it today.

Junk Jeans

Guys always seem to be messing with their balls. Not for pleasure, but because they itch or they're out of place or they're stuck together. I know this because I have a brother and a father and a husband. And now a son. I'm not sure why the balls get so out of wack so often. Maybe they are trying to steal some of the limelight from the big guy above them. In any case, here's a solution:

Dr. Dick

I went to the urologist with my mom yesterday. Having not spent any time with a urologist, I wasn't quite sure what they did. I knew it had something to do with urine (or that was my guess because I'm pretty good at looking at words and breaking them up to find their meanings). Sitting in the waiting room and seeing all the pamphlets on viagra and erectile dysfunction, I quickly realized that the urologist must cover all kinds of issues from the waist down. Not, however, to be confused with the gynecologist or proctologist in any way. My mom was filling out the form indicating her health history. I told her she should put "erectile dysfunction" down just for laughs. She didn't want to do that.

After I had read every "Martha Stewart" and "Country Living" magazine in the waiting room (I skipped the edition of "You and Your Urine") I started looking around. I realized that there are two doctors in the practice. My mom was seeing the woman. The other doctor's name was - get this - Dr. Weiner.

Does your name have anything to do with your destiny?

These are real:

Chiropractor: Dr. McCracken
Dentist: Dr. Molar
G.I. Doc: Dr. Butt
Orthopedisit: Dr. Bonz
Driver's Ed Teacher: Mr. Carr
Hearing Aid Doc: Dr. Silence
Urologist: Dr. Cockburn

Cockburn??? Are you kidding me?

Do you think if you are born with a name like, let's say, Lester Vachina, are you more likely to become a gynecologist than the average person? If kids ridiculed you for fifteen years about your name being so close to the word vagina, is there something subconscious that would cause a person to gravitate towards a profession having to do with female genitalia? Just curious. Someone should do a research project. I think I'm onto something big.

Thong Rubdown

On my mundane family blog I talk about getting ready to run my first marathon on 1/18/2009. About a month ago my dear friend, Erika, gave me a necklace pendant shaped like a whale tail. It's supposed to symbolize luck on marathon day. For the past month I haven't taken it off and I've been talking about "rubbing my whale tail" quite a bit. Today when I was blogging on the boring blog, I wanted to research the actual Hawaiian history of the whale tail, so I do what anyone would do: google "whale tail." Of course Wiki has an explanation that I eagerly clicked on. This is what I get:



"Whale tail is the Y-shaped waistband of a thong or g-string when visible above the waistline of low-rise jeans, shorts, or a skirt that resembles a whale's tail. Intentionally or unintentionally, a whale tail is exposed above the trousers mostly when sitting or bending, or even while standing."


I kind of pride myself on knowing the latest lingo - well not all of it - but I do know about the Dirty Sanchez. I also know what a Rusty Trombone is. I like to identify the "tramp stamps" at the pool and would be the first one to point out a camel toe or moose knuckle. I did not, however, know that this lovely site above was called a "whale tail." Don't get me wrong - it makes perfect sense. It's just that I've been going around talking about rubbing whale tails for the past month and I certainly didn't mean I was going to touch that purple thing above.

These days you've got to memorize the Urban Dictionary just to make sure you're not saying something really nasty in conversation. For example, the definition of "your birthday" on the UD is not the day you were born, but "the day you came out of a vagina." And if you've got "Christmastoe" you've got a cameltoe at Christmastime. In case you were wondering what to call it when your Aunt Midge shows up in her tight polyester pants on December 25.


So think of me on Sunday as I rub my whale tail. But try not to get too aroused.

Beth