Balls Deep in Weenis

August 12, 2009 at 6:14 PM (Debauchery, Entertainment)

So being a good little Pagan, I know it wasn’t a full moon last night, but lemme tell ya, the freaks were out, and it was a sac convention! I really need to stop hanging out at early morning late night bars. But then, where else am I going to find those after-dark oddities (I’m talking about people, not drugs) that sizzle my noodle into a crispy fritter, and stimulating make-out sessions with hot bartenders?

Right. Bang on.

It all started with some drunk (imagine that) dude who was celebrating his birthday. As a present to himself, he decided to light his balls on fire – just to show that he could. Or maybe it was because he didn’t have a cake and candles and he thought his trouser eggs were the next best thing. One of my friends asked to borrow my lighter, but when I found out what it was for, I said hell no! declined. Hot bartender came through with a pack of matches. I think the birthday boy managed to get one, tiny hair on his scrotum to burn. I guess his pants weren’t as hot as he imagined. What a waste.

After this display, it was on. ALL the guys wanted to plop their junk in a barstool. And those that didn’t plonk their stuff on a stool just lifted their shorts and grabbed a handful and said, “Hey! Look what I can do!” So I did look. I love a train wreck!

And another thing: Do you know what a weenis is? I didn’t until last night. I had a weenis three way. It wasn’t very satisfying. In fact, one weenis was a little dirty – and I don’t mean in a sexy-sexy way. And there was no protection involved. And we did it more than once. And the repeat performances were no better than the original. I was exhausted from faking it. The whole experience made me long for strange nuts.

Synopsis: I was balls deep in weenis. But I like sports, so it was a good night.

2 Comments

Imaginary Associations

August 11, 2009 at 12:42 PM (Cube Farm)

Do you ever have one of those waking daydreams in which you experience something so real that it affects you emotionally but it’s all in your head?

I just had one of those. I lived through an entire imaginary conference call in which some douche someone was explaining a particular work flow with which my group is unfamiliar. When I asked a question on their process, the fucktarded assratchet gentleman answered me in an obviously snarky tone, which, nautually, set me off. I told him I was on the fucking call to learn his way of doing business – since he and his people had touted how much more efficient and awesome they were compared to us “ignant” Americans – and that I would really appreciate a less condescending tone. He snorted at me, and shut up. But then, THEN, my director decided to put his two cents in and went off on ME! He told me I should have more respect for jackasses someone who was trying to teach me something, and then told me to apologize! I told him to fuck off. I said, “Good luck with your business now that you don’t have anyone to train your new monkeys, you assfaced dickhead! I quit!” And then I grabbed a box, packed up my desk, and stormed out of the building giving everyone the one-fingered salute in the process. The minions were clapping and cheering and throwing papers in the air as they joined my revolt against corporate asshats everywhere.

And then my phone rang, ruining a perfectly awesome mutiny.

It took me longer to type this out than it did to live it in my head. And I’m still mad as hell at that imaginary jerk. Not to mention my director! Unfortunately for him he’s real. And he’s here. And I’m in an arse-whuppin’ mood.

2 Comments

New Direction

August 3, 2009 at 11:36 PM (Cube Farm, Life)

My job here will be ending in October unless I choose to move to Georgia. I used to love my job. I seriously loved it and looked forward to work every day. But then, my great manager (who knew how to run our department and handle our clients) moved on, and the old codgers (who don’t have a fucking clue what we do on a daily basis) moved in. They’ve played a major part in ruining a perfectly wonderful job, and they’ve made it clear that a woman can’t be a manager in “their” department – even though they rely on me to tell them when to wipe their asses. I guess baby-sitting is all a woman is good for in their testosterone-sodden world. I’ve decided it’s not in my best interest to continue my journey with this fucked up company. I don’t want to end up with a beard and a dick. Well, not as a part of my anatomy, anyway.

So I’m lookikng into new career opportunities, and I’m even contemplating going back to school – yes, even though I’m getting old and hormonally challenged. Here are some jobs I think would be awesome, though I’m sure they’re not easily come by because, really, who would quit them? Food critic. Travel writer. Mystery shopper. Movie reviewer. Restauranteur. Zoo keeper. If you have an in, and if you cherish my happiness as much as I do, give a girl a clue as to how she can obtain one of these awesome occupations without proper training. Although, I have to say, I really do feel like I’m already eminently qualified to be a zoo keeper as I work with wild animals on a daily basis.

As for furthering my education, I have several ideas about that as well. Culinary school. Nutritionist. Computer science. Photography. Teacher. Horticulturist. But which one do I pick? I want them all! I need some direction. Ideally, I’d like to own my own business, but I don’t know what I want that business to be. I’d like to own a restaurant – nothing fancy, just a really great diner. I’m a pretty good cook already, and I have several friends who’re pretty talented as well, but none of us have any extra money, and who wants to take out a loan in this economy? I’d also like to start an internet business selling natural bath products (soaps, shampoos, oils, bath salts, lotions, etc.), but I don’t currently have a dedicated place to make these things. I need an industrial kitchen, a bigger place to live, unlimited supplies, and…

Can I just get a sugar daddy? Or better yet, the winning lottery numbers?

Then again, all this change could be the hormones talking. If so, they need to shut the hell up before I spend money I don’t have.

5 Comments

Returning Ramble

August 1, 2009 at 4:28 PM (Ambiguity)

I finally have internet again. Hooray!

The past few months have been hectic and a bit (OMG-OMG-OMG) stressful. I had to move back in with the maternal unit. She hasn’t been doing so well on her own (Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!), and let’s face it, living with her (though she drives me nuts – more nuts) saves me money. That said, it’s been a tough adjustment. I’m very independent, for one thing, and mom is very nosy and clingy (which I hate). The two don’t mix, but I’m very slowly bringing her around to the fact that I’m not twelve anymore (for the most part). The first time I stayed out all night after moving in with her, she called the police. That’s right. She reported me as a missing person. And this was AFTER I told her I wouldn’t be home. It’s been an uphill battle, but I’m winning. Losing is for losers!

Before I could move in with the mumster, she (meaning, mostly me) had to clean out the bottom of her house (it’s a tri-level), which consists of a bedroom, bathroom, and large family room. I have never seen so much useless junk in my life… and she wouldn’t let me throw ANY of that shit away! It’s all in the garage now, which means neither of us can park our cars inside. I’ve even tried to sneak some of it to the trash, but she KNOWS. She finds it and brings it back. How does she do that?! And, more importantly, WHY does she do that? I have come to the conclusion that she’s the reason I’m such a neat-freak now. The woman could make a fortune at a flea market.

In other news – and this will be TMI, but who cares – I think I’m perimenopausal. The doctor gave me hormone pills to make my period stop, but it’s not working. I’m going on day 15 so you can imagine how pale, cranky, and emotional I’ve been. It’s a blast when the weepies hit me at work. My boss and his boss are both old codgers, so when the waterworks start, they turn red, grunt like cavemen, and hit the door. Of course, as soon as they’re gone the crying stops, which should tell them something. Asshats.

Woohoo! Happy days and good times, people! I’m living with my mom, and goin’ through the CHANGE!

2 Comments

Clandestine Confession

April 24, 2009 at 4:24 PM (Life, People)

Disclaimer: If you don’t want to hear about my (almost, but not quite) sex life, you should click away.

I went out Tuesday night (through Wednesday morning – I’m on vacation so shut up!), and before the night (morning) was over, I was making out with one of my hot bartender friends. And let me just say, he’s a total package. Smart, funny, very likable… and skilled in the art of kissing. Laws yes. Very skilled. We’ve always been dangerously flirtatious with one another, but never as much as that night. When I got up to leave (and I was the last to go becaue we sat around talking for about a half-hour while he did his close-out thing), he came from behind the bar and said, “Before you go…” and then he just laid one on me. Yum.

Now, my best bet is to chalk this up to both of us being drunk and horny, but this was a serious make-out session, and I want more, damnit! It both sobered me up, and made me more intoxicated at the same time. My entire body tightened in all the right places, and I’m pretty sure angels were singing. I’m tellin’ y’all, if there’s a next time, I’m doing him on one of the pool tables. Or all of them.

But enough about my almost-brush with coitus, and on to other news that you don’t care about! I’ve got two new gaymos in my life! A gay pirate, and another hot (gay) bartender! After my make-out session with hot (straight) bartender, I met some friends at another all-night hang out, and ended up having breakfast (more like lunch) with the bartender (not the hot one or the gay one), the bouncer (serial-killer creepy), and other bartender (hot, but gay), who actually bought my meal. I love it when someone else picks up the tab. I’m not used to that because I’m a control freak.

That night, I had a dream about a huge flock of ducks flying over my yard. One stopped to poop on the ground right in front of me. He pooped a lot. I’m sure my subconscious is trying to tell me something, but I’m all out of toilet paper.

6 Comments

Easter Feastivities

April 13, 2009 at 12:57 AM (Life)

I had a surprisingly lovely and peaceful day with the maternal unit today. We had Easter dinner together and neither of us exploded after eating, so I count the day a ginormous success. We sat on her front porch and just enjoyed the view and talked about stupid stuff. I even made some new friends.

First, a snarling sweet, little feral cat dropped by for some free yum-yums. He hissed and spat and ran away when we wouldn’t give up the ham. Rude.

Gimme some ham, beyotches!

Gimme some ham, beyotches!

Then a rabid cute, little squirrel popped by for snack. The visit was short lived because the cat ate him. Guess the cat got his ham (squirrel, rat, whatever) after all. Happy Easter, kitty! And hey, squirrel? At least you got to contribute to someone’s Easter din-din! Yay!

Get rid of that crack-head cat, yo, so I can score some leftovers!

Get rid of that crack-head cat, yo, so I can score some leftovers!

While the cat was busy with the squirrel, a cardinal happened upon our Easter feast, but fell dead when I stole his soul with my camera. Happy Easter, birdie-bird! Have a nice afterlife! Maybe you’ll reincarnate as a cat. They have nine lives and no souls, so picture time will no longer be a deadly activity. Fingers crossed!

Aaiiyeee! Don't take me picture! You'll steal me soul, you human demon! And hows about yous chase off those other two. Thems look hungry.

Aaiiyeee! Don't take me picture! You'll steal me soul, you human demon! And hows about yous chase off those other two. Thems look hungry.

All in all it was a really fun day. Which is odd, considering I spent it with the mumster and not some hot love puppet. But it’s okay, love puppets. 80’s Prom Night is right around the corner! I think I’ll do the Madonna look. I might even wear a cone bra.

9 Comments

Campy Calling

March 24, 2009 at 12:01 AM (Entertainment, People)

Dear American Idol,

I just wanted to thank you for introducing me to the creamy, dreamy, gay hotness that is Adam Lambert. I would totally be his fag hag, and in fact, that’s the primary reason for my letter to you. Is there an application process for obtaining this position? If so, please email the appropriate forms to the provided address. I really think I would be the best candidate for this vocation, and to tell you the truth, after watching Adam shake it on stage, I feel it is my calling in life.

This is a beautiful man. Laws yes.

This is a beautiful man. Laws yes.

I have a great amount of experience in this line of work as I have many adoring homo friends who clamber relentlessly to be my beyotch, which generally ends in a cat fight in a bar parking lot with me either cackling or crying on the sidewalk. They’ve all done so much for me (shopping, hair, karaoke, shopping, gay cabaret, mani/pedi, shopping), I feel it’s time I gave back to them, and I truly believe serving as Adam’s fag hag is the only answer.

I’m fully prepared to take up this occupation immediately and with feather boas streaming in my wake. I’m well-versed in the lingo, and I think gay porn is hot, which puts me well ahead of the game.

Look at those fucking beautiful eyes! Gah!

Look at those fucking beautiful eyes! Gah!

One question: Would this role call for me to be a top or bottom or would I just watch?

With campy regards and hot frankness,

QFP

P.S. Please hasten your response. I’m slowly being melted into a puddle of sticky goo by His Gay Hotness’s eyes. Gurgle.

(I adore him! Don’t judge me!)

7 Comments

Facebook is the Devil!

March 19, 2009 at 10:31 PM (Entertainment)

Gah! Just when I thought I was healing myself of the Facebook games addiction, I found groups where you can increase your group size! I’m adding strangers as friends just to beat the shit out of everyone else! Is that bad? I’m now playing not only Vampire Wars, but every other frakkin’ game on that gods-forsaken site! I’m playing so many games, I’m having trouble thinking up new character names, and my real name has become just a distant memory…

Vampire Wars: Aisling
Mafia Wars: Sweetlips McGoo
Pirate Wars: Finnegan McDoogan (my pet sidekick is Feathers Wackadoo)
Heroes and Villains: Fluffy Bedlam (my pet sidekick is Boo McCuddles)

There are more, but I can’t remember them because I’ve forgotten who I am. I think I’ve developed some sort of multiple personality disorder. I actually said, “Argh, matey!” to my boss today, and then hissed (all sexy-vampire-like) at my minions. Who does that??? Me. That’s who. And me, and me, and me, and me.

Will I never be free from all this mayhem? How am I supposed to get anything done when I’m being forced (yes, forced) to constantly grow my powers, possessions, land, inventory, minions, and clan / mafia / crew / posse / allies / league?? There’s not enough time in the day for all this conquering! And once I’ve won everything, I have to fight to keep it? No wonder I’m stressed all the time! One person just can’t do it all!

And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, now they’ve added new avatars and abilities to Vampire Wars. I want them! But to get them, I have to fight more vamps so I can gain more power so I can improve my skill level so I can be eligible for the abilities! I’m so tired! I’ve got carpal-tunnel syndrome so bad my hand is cramped around the mouse! Damn you, Facebook! Damn you and your addictive games!

I’m off to play now. Oh! And here’s a pic of my new vamp avatar. If I could dress like her all the time, I’d do it. I’d do it lots.

Blah! Blah! Ju vant me bite ju? Jes, ju do...

Blah! Blah! Ju vant me bite ju? Jes, ju do...

8 Comments

I’m Invincible!

March 11, 2009 at 7:01 PM (Uncategorized)

I had something really important to talk about, but I can’t remember what it was. Which suggests that it really wasn’t important at all. Or I’m senile. Or both.

Since I can’t remember what I wanted to discuss, you may now grovel at my invincible boots. Please keep the drool to a minimum.

Whaa-POW!

Whaa-POW!

Stop touching my cape. Go get yer own.

[nabbed from Anja]

7 Comments

Let’s Hug

March 8, 2009 at 9:59 PM (Haiku, Health, Life)

I’m pleased to say, the “crud” has nearly been defeated. It was an uphill battle for a while, but those spongy organs lodged in my thorax finally rallied to the cause and evicted Mucus and his minions from my respiratory system. That’s right, my babies. Snotty McPhlegmerson has left the building. And good riddance! Here’s a lame haiku dedicated to the former rattle in my chest.

phlegm covered rattle
residing in heaving chest
not safe for children

Snotty McPhlegmerson

Snotty McPhlegmerson

While I was convalescing, I met someone. I’m not usually into hairy dudes, but this guy makes me laugh, and he loves to feed me, so he was kinda hard to resist. I swear, Weight Watchers, I really tried, but Hungry won me over with his charm… and pizza and hot dogs and ice cream and cookies and cake. It’s a good thing he doesn’t mind when I’m bloated and gassy, because I washed all that shit down with a 12 pack of suds (buuuuurp). Hungry didn’t judge me. He just gave me a high-five for holding my liquor, and not hurling the goodies he shoveled down my gullet. I love that about him. I’ve always dreamed of being involved with someone who can appreciate a little fluff on a gal. I think I’ve found Mr. Right.

He's just so huggable.

He's just so huggable.

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