I love you, Ana! Christian says constantly. Anastasia, like a squirrel with a head injury, in turn wonders whether or not Christian loves her. Could it be love? “I love you, Anastasia,” Christian would say, again, and Ana’s horny rodent brain wonders anew if it was, in fact, love. Then she’d “misbehave,” and Christian would hiss that he wanted to beat her up, and Anastasia would get super turned on, but also scared. For a thousand pages.
Yeah, that about sums it up. I literally LOLd throught this review, that P.S., has spoilers. snorts
And, FINE, OK, YES, I’VE READ THE TRILOGY TWICE. So sue me. It’s like crack, but junky crack, and you just can’t not do the junky crack because you MUST find out what dark alley with a dead body in a dumpster you may end up in.
Once upon a very hot time, Crazy Chicken Lady checked her chickens before closing the coop for the evening and she observed Phoebe panting and holding her wings away from her body and got worried about heat stroke. So she brought her in for awhile to sit in front of the fan. And stepped in poop on the way in. And was holding a chicken so she couldn’t wipe it off. She walked funny to keep it off the floor. Then Phoebe pooped on the floor. And Crazy Chicken Lady realized this was really stupid and decided to clean her foot and take the fan out to the coop instead. The End. *curtsies*
Edit 3/25/2011: My Knitted Knaughties made their debut at a party I did last Friday. This is how they came to be.
P.S. They have been tentatively named “Tab A” & “Slot B.” BY MY FATHER. See Also: high pitched voice AWKWARD. –the management
(There’s some vaguely not safe for work pictures and video if your boss is a total douche-canoe. If your boss is pretty cool, actually, you’re going to need to call him/her in to show them the knitted naughties.)
Well, hi there! said in Ellen Degeneres’s voice as Dory
About five weeks ago, I had an idea. A wonderful idea. A wonderful, terrible, phenomenally hawsum idea. But at first I couldn’t figure out how to make it happen. I emailed a few of my favorite bloggers who knit. I struck out. I emailed a few IRL friends who knit. I struck out.
THEN. I got a wonderful idea. A wonderful, terrible, PHENOMENALLY HAWSUM idea. You know who could find someone to help me? My favorite bloggers who I have read since 2007. She’s probably your favorite blogger, too. And if she’s not, she SHOULD be. True story.
From: dory -at- cantrememberdiddly -dot- com
Subject: Something NOT having to do with knitted reproductive systems (I’m totally lying.)
Date: February 23, 2011 10:27:06 AM CST
To: jenny -at- if you want her email you need to do the legwork because I did dammit dot com
I sent you a message on Facebook, but maybe it got lost in the shuffle. Or, my subject field, which was,”Crafting realistic genitalia for fun and profit (Seriously.)” alerted Facebook censors, which begs the question, Have they MET you?!?! 😀 I’ll choose a different subject for the email and maybe it won’t hit your spam filter.
Hi, I’m Dory, and I’ve been reading your blog for about three years. Coincidentally, I have stains on my hard wood floors from spitting various liquids due to sudden uncontrollable laughter while reading your blog, but, that is neither here nor there. Which makes me wonder where it is REALLY, because if it’s neither here nor there, where else could it be, I mean, besides up Al Gore’s left nostril, which is totally possible for anyone who invented the internet. Anyway.First of all, I have to tell you that you are totally my hero, actually, heroine, which is not at all the same as heroin, except now that I consider it more carefully, yes, yes you are totally my heroin. My heroine AND my heroin. I shall refrain from breaking into “You are the Wind Beneath My Wings” now, which is good because 1- you couldn’t hear me anyway and 2- I am Deaf so it would be a new and improved version of horrifying.
I have a special request. I have looked all over the internet for it, and not only did I not find even close to what I was looking for, I am now psychologically scarred for life and have wonderfully terrifying new issues to take to my therapist.
I wanted to run something by you to see if you would maybe be willing to help me. I would run it by my readers, but I have, like, 3, and they all said they can’t fulfill my request. THANKS A LOT, 3 READERS.
Ok, before I tell you what I’m looking for, you have to know that I’m a Passion Parties consultant but not one of those total crazy stalker, over persistent, 5 voicemail leaving, kind of consultants. More like the 2 facebook page having, good sale giving, sex education imparting, kind. I got into this because the job market, oddly enough, doesn’t have a whole lot of room for a Deaf whacknut. Screw you, job market, if you haven’t figured out that Deaf whacknuts would make you infinitely more interesting. Kind of like when you get drunk at a party to be more funny, except totally not like that.
Ok, here’s the deal.
I did a party Friday night, and I was trying to show the girls how one of the c-ring toys work. I was having a hard time explaining that you could put the vibrating bullet on the clitoris or down on the perineum. I thought, I wish I had a fake vagina and penis that wasn’t creepy or skeevy so I could just go “this goes here and that goes there and viola!” Then I thought, what about knitted or crocheted ones? Then they’re actually kind of cute and funny not porny and skeevy! I went on etsy but couldn’t find what I wanted. I asked a few different knitters I know, but they said that sort of project was beyond their capabilities. I even asked Schmutzie because of that cat with the butthole and the Louella the Crack Whore she knitted. She said it sounded like a really fun project but she didn’t think she had the technical know-how to do it. But I love her even though she couldn’t give me a knitted vagina and penis combo, and if that’s not love, I don’t know what is.
The penis would be really easy I bet but the vagina would be kinda tricky. I think I would want to have it, like, picture a doll that got the top cut off right below the belly button (or right above and give her a cute naval ring) and then at the top of the legs so you just have the important part of the torso and pelvis. Kind of like if you took a chain saw to a mannequin except less weird. I would want it to have a tube going in for the vagina so I could insert the knitted penis. I would want it to have lips and a clitoris, maybe even one that peeked out of a small hood like a real clitoris. I would want the skin tone for both to be neutral, not white or black, maybe a hispanic skin tone. I would like the penis to be uncircumcised, and be kinda realistic with a head with a frenulum and a scrotum and about 5″ to 6″ long and an average girth so it doesn’t intimidate any of the men at the couples parties. I would like both to have dark pubic hair but not any longer than 1/2″ to 3/4″. I would like it to be the small, tight kind of knitting so the stuffing doesn’t show through at all. Maybe that tight kind of knitting is actually crocheting, I’m not sure. Hey, remember that one episode of friends when Chandler walks in and sees Rachel’s boobies through the holes in the afghan? See also: I may watch too many Friends reruns.
So I thought maybe, perhaps, possibly, you would be willing to reach out to your readers (cheese and rice, you add 35 to 40 EVERY DAY to your FB!) and see if any of them have the talent to make this sort of thing. Maybe even make it a contest or something. I’m just getting started in this so I don’t have a lot of cash and we’re about 27 seconds away from foreclosure (which is GREAT for depression by the way) but I think I would be able to offer $100 in free Passion Parties product for the finished vagina and penis. If you think it would take more, I could do $100 in product immediately and $100 more product in one month. I’m sure people wouldn’t want to do the whole project just for the chance to win, so I’m not sure how they would throw their hat in the ring, maybe submit pictures of their knitting/crocheting past projects to show their talent? plus a goofy essay “Why I Can Totally Knit/Crochet a Stellar Vagina & Penis”? I’m not sure, but I have a hunch your readers would LOVE to see the entries. Then you could choose the winner and I could give you the prize to give to your readers, I could even give it to you beforehand to show you I won’t flake out on you.
Take a look at my “Info” on my facebook profile and that should hopefully prove to you that I’m not a total douche-canoe. I have links to my blog (which I’ve mentioned you to my three readers a few different times) and my Passion Parties online catalog and my Passion Parties Facebook Pages which come in Mild & Wild just like hot wings. Except less messy and you don’t have to tip me. Unless you want to. Because we’re out of toilet paper and Tom doesn’t get paid until next week. So I’ll probably “borrow” some from the gas station restroom.
Thank you, Jenny, for listening to my verbal diarrhea and please know that if you say no you’re not interested I will totally understand and there will be no hard feelings. You have total immunity from getting unsubscribed in my Google Reader for life or longer.
And promptly forgot about it and moved onto other more important things, like tax refunds and finishing Lost.
But Jenny didn’t. Jenny emailed me back and told me clearly I was insane but in a good way (she TOTALLY gets me) and that she would see what she could do.
I would have been happy with that. Because, DOOD. JENNY. EMAILED. ME.
Louise and I emailed back and forth a little and much, MUCH faster than I thought would happen, Louise sent me PICTURES. Pictures of PROGRESS.
I am not a crier. I got a little emotional when I saw these pictures, I can’t lie to you; I got a little misty-eyed.
Because I was so. Damn. Happy.
That hasn’t happened in a while, and it weirded me out a little at first. But then I just went with it. My heart grew TWO sizes that day.
It is absolutely amazing. I don’t mean amazing like the amazing connection the psycho bitch feels for The Bachelor. As she sobs her mascara off and ugly cries and screams and burns down the mansion.
I mean the amazing that makes me feel like good things can happen to ME.
The blogosphere is astounding and amazing and wonderful, and I am humbled by what we will do for one of our own.
Like use the power of Our People to help a little blogger. Or use the power of our talent to help someone we’ve met online for four minutes.
It’s an absolutely beautiful thing. And I’ll never forget it. Pinky swear.
So here’s what you need to know!
Here’s my shop’s Facebook Pages, Mild and Wild. “Like” one or both. I offer access to secret specials and sales there, as well as articles, tips and techniques to enhance your romantic relationships. Here’s my shop. Go there. Click Shop Online and have some fun. I’m only $23 in sales away from hitting a milestone, which would be $1500 in sales for March, and only $523 away from $2000 which would mean I would bonus for the first time and get $100 bonus. Just sayin’.
Here’s Louise’s shop’s Facebook Page. Check it out. “Like it”. Offer her a challenge. Tell her you want something weird knitted. Buy something. It will make you more interesting and better liked. I mean, look at me! Now I can be the sex toy lady with the Knitted Naughties! I feel more popular already!
I love you, Jenny! In a totally non-practicing-lesbian-lover-but-questioning kind of way.
I love you, Louise! In a totally non-practicing-lesbian-lover-but-questioning-and-considering-a-threesome kind of way.
I sincerely hope that Jenny and Louise and I get to meet and hug and clink drinks together someday.
I told Louise that Jenny and I would be hiding in the Ladies Room and she would need to be on board with this, but I’m pretty sure it’s still under consideration.
But most of all, I love you, Mah Peepull. I rillyrilly do. Especially you and you who have been with me since 2007.
Because even when I’m a complete guanomaniac, you love me. Even when I go weeks at a time without inspiration to write, you keep me in your reader and encourage me when I do put something up.
big wet sloppy kisses all around and jumping up and down hugs too
OH. Almost forgot to tell you.
Pending a clean background check, TOM HAS A BIG BOY JOB. That pays him what him and his master’s degree and his $80k in student loans are worth. If anything bad comes up on the background check, Tom’s just going to say he was drunk. Folks will excuse you from all manner of transgressions with a well played, “But you see, I was drunk.”
My party last Friday was $837. My best party EVER. DAMN.
I’m still in shock. After all the SHIT that we’ve endured, and cried over, and prayed through, FINALLY, good stuff is happening.
Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU. God, you are SO good.
P.S. Sorry if you got Google juice on you with all those links up there. But those ladies deserve it. Every single bit. You should try it. It’s linky love. It’s fun. It’s good karma. And you need to be hosed down when it’s over. You know you did something hawsum when you need to be hosed down after you do it.
P.P.S. Ok, honestly, I’m not sorry. And you should be blessed by that Google juice that got splashed on you. It feels like holy water and tastes like Lucky Charms and goes down like KoolAid.
P.P.P.S. Mmmmmmmmmmm, Lucky Charms.
P.P.P.P.S. I’m magically delicious.
P.P.P.P.P.S. And so is Embrace, the edible lube. The vanilla tastes like, (guess what?) Lucky Charms. Now, THAT shit is magical. It’s in my shop online under “Lubricants.”
P.P.P.P.P.P.S. YOU. ARE. WELCOME.
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. In honor of Jenny, I’m offering a sale good thru 11:59pm Sunday night. If a sale on sex toys doesn’t say love, then I don’t know what does. Anyway. 1 person can take 25% off their order, code WOOHOO25. 1 person, 20%, WOOHOO20. 1 person, 15%, WOOHOO15. Got to www.designyourpassion.com click through to my website and click on Shop Online. Try the first one, and if it doesn’t work, try the next, etc. Have fun!
He so stoo-pid, he chewed the cord on the LitterMaid, gave himself a pretty good jolt, and is now afraid of his own litterbox. In his feeble mind, The Potty Bit-ted Me On My Mouf.
A couple weeks ago, the LitterMaid stopped working with the pooper-scooper arm extended all the way across to the pooper keeper. I played with the cord a little bit, and discovered that it had been chewed and now had a short in it. If I fiddled with it, it would make a little connection and move about an inch and stop. It was now officially junk.
Meanwhile, one of the cats peed smack in the middle of our bed. We figured it was Elmer and that he was pissed-off [everybody groans] about something, maybe because I wasn’t scooping as often as the box used to (c’mon, I don’t care who you are, you can’t scoop every time 10 minutes after the cat leaves the box). We had to strip the bed and clean it which is a great big, pain-in-the-ass job and about as popular around here as a root canal and forgoing anesthesia for hypnosis.
I scooped old-skool fashion for a couple days and Elmer peed on the bed again. I sent Hunky to the store for a new LitterMaid and a Bissell Little Green Machine. He cleaned the bed and the BLGM worked much better than rags and a ShopVac. I dismantled LitterMaid I (AKA LandfillMatter), set up LitterMaid II, and I declared “all good in da ‘hood”. But I kept checking the new box periodically and it seemed like the cats weren’t generating as much stinky stuff as usual. A week went by and the pooper keeper hadn’t even filled up yet. Elmer peed on our bed a couple more times, necessitating stripping and cleaning AGAIN. Well, you know I was about ready to send Mr. Elmer to Kitty Orphanage, because if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s for my house to stink like cat pee.
The proverbial last straw came when Hunky was having a lovely nap on the couch. Elmer had been enjoying his favorite activity, which is laying on the top of the couch, keeping watch over his front yard; the people walking by, and the birds and squirrels brave enough to venture into his territory. I saw him out of the corner of my eye as he rose and jumped down to Hunky’s lap.
As I watched first in confusion then in abject horror, manymanymany things happened at approximately the speed of technology.
Hunky’s eyes fluttered, then opened, and his eyes got rilly, rillybig.
He jumped up off the couch holding Elmer by the scruff of the neck, an arc of pee still streaming from Elmer.
He was yelling like a Tazmanian Devil. I couldn’t tell a single word he was saying.
I jumped up and yelled, “What do you want me to do?!” mostly because I had to yell over him to make myself heard.
He continued his Tazmanian Devil impression on the way to the basement door where he tossed the cat (he didn’t hurt him; don’t sic the ASPCA on us) down the stairs.
Much yelling and groaning and gnashing of teeth.
It wasn’t pretty. At all. By any stretch of the imagination.
Something had to be done.
In a last ditch effort, I bought a cheap, simple litterbox in a different color than the Scary Potty. I filled it up for him and showed him where it was, and right away he got in and hunkered down. Well, now I’m all, mentally high fiving myself and doing a little victory dance in my head, chalking up Dory 1, Elmer 0. But he sat there for over a minute, and I’m thinking, day-um, that’s a lot of peeing. But then he got up and walked away and there’s two tiny little drops for all of his effort. Now I’m thinking, ok,now he’s stoo-pid and broken.
Hunky took him to the vet. When I picked him up, the vet explained that he had a nasty bladder infection. Every time he tried to pee for about the week prior, it must’ve burned horribly. She gave me antibiotics and some special food that cost more per pound than a nice New York Strip steak. I ordered this cranberry medicine from 1-800-Pet-Meds to go in his steak/food. So now Elmer is on the mend, I guess. He’s still not peeing much yet, but his course of antibiotics isn’t finished.
So here’s my theory: when his Potty Bit-ted Him In His Mouf, he started holding his pee to avoid it, and consequently developed a bladder infection.
He’s still terrified of the litterbox, of course. We’ve tried a cardboard box filled with shredded paper shavings. We’ve tried holding him close to the new cheap litterbox and offering treats or scratching his neck just like he likes. But he still won’t use it.
Because his feeble mind, My Potty Bit-ted Me In My Mouf AND Has A Scary Mean Monster Hiding In It That Bit-ted Me In My Junk.
Too bad there’s no medicine for stoo-pid.
Where’s the research grants for that? Surely it’s as big a problem as erectile dysfunction.
I bet we all could think of a lot of folks that would benefit greatly from some IStoopidium DA.
10 days went by without me posting, and you know what that means, Mah Peepull! It’s time for another heapin’ helpin’ of Blog Stew!
• • •
I got The Plague. As you can see, I lived to tell the tale. It was a very close call.
While I didn’t get the tummy part of it (Thank GOD!) I did get the body ache part, and I’ve never had it so bad, EVER. I stayed in bed for almost an entire day straight and then moved very carefully for the next couple days. I managed to not share The Plague with Hunky and boys.
I did, however, manage to generate about 7 quarts of snot. (I may tend toward hyperbole. Just sayin’.)
I can be a huge baby when I get sick. If I have the strength, I contact close friends to say goodbye and if applicable, reveal what I’m bequeathing them with in my will.
I just realized that I may have already told you this. It was The Plague followed by the hotel weekend. Did I already tell you this or did I just post it as a status update on Twitter/Facebook?
I have no idea what I’m doing. Someone should take away my blogging license.
Oh, look! Something shiny!!!
• • •
I’ve been a lot more active on Twitter lately. I think it may be true what they say about tweeting something and wasting a good idea for a post. I’ve caught myself a few times tweeting something that I really should flesh out into a decent post.
If you tweet it and don’t post it… using that one good idea to put a tweet out there that has decent substance gets more attention on Twitter and goes a lot farther in developing relationships and finding readers.
If you tweet it and also post it… I think it could show bad form to tweet something and then also use that idea to post. I’m not judging people who do that, I’m just saying it doesn’t feel right to me. I may change my mind; it’s not out of the realm of possibilility. After all, bumper stickers and tshirts all over the world assure me that it’s my right as a woman. Oh, another downer: If you do both, it shows up multiple times in feeds like FriendFeed, Buzz, Seesmic, etc and you run the risk of irritating people and having them unsubscribe.
I guess what I’m saying is… it’s a trade off.
And I may have put way too much thought into this.
• • •
A friend at work just got a new MP3 player and was asking if I would put some of my music on his player. Sure, no problem, right? Right. Actually, for a change, it worked the way it was supposed to. Amazingly. He gave me some money and I downloaded a couple albums for him from iTunes, and I didn’t even have to burn them onto a CD and re-import into iTunes to get the protected files to work on his player. I just plugged it in, drag-n-dropped them onto the player that mounted onto my desktop, and voila! He had tunage. I love my Mac. LOVE. LOVE.
The only problem, and it wasn’t a big one, was when he wanted a couple songs that iTunes didn’t carry. See, I was one of those freaks that was downloading a much as humanly, or more accurately, computer-ly possible the last four hours that Napster was up. Then, scared off by the press about people getting fined thousands of dollars, I quit. But when I couldn’t get him the music he wanted on iTunes, I went looking for it. And I may or may not have gone a little nuts looking on Billboard charts for one hit wonders from the 70s 80s and 90s. I may or may not have acquired such greats as Feel Like Makin’ Love, Shake Your Groove Thang, Rock Me Amadeus, Too Shy, Sledgehammer, and West End Girls as well as around 250 others. You know, I think I’ll just leave it at that so I don’t incriminate myself any further. Both in the music taste department, and the downloading music source department.
I fear it’s too late; you’ve lost respect for me already. I don’t blame you. I judge me.
And I’ll be rockin’ my air guitar along to Pour Some Sugar On Me as I do it.
• • •
I’ve been doing quite a bit of reading at work in the last couple months.
Last week I finished The Runaway Quilt which was #4 in a series by Jennifer Chiaverini. I started that series that inspired me to do the sampler quilt I started in July. (That was the ugliest, messiest sentence in the history of EVER.)
I just finished My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Piccoult. For the most part, it was a good read. There’s a lot of the story that reads almost poetically; I love the way she used some similes to illustrate small details. But there were other sections that read a little to cliche-ish-ly. Shut up. That’s totally a word.
• • •
I had a dream that I called my local Apple guy to get my beloved iMac, my Edgrr, my five-and-a-half-year-old buddy, out of the hospital. My guy said Edgrr needed a new logic board (that much is really true) and that Apple had a new program to trade in old Macs for new Macs and that Edgrr’s trade in value was currently $1655.
What? I told you it was a dream. I started with, I had a dream. Did you think I was doing my MLK impression? I don’t have one of those.
Related: I want an iPad. The way you want a drink of ice water after you’ve been tanning next to the pool for six hours. In Arizona. In a desert.
• • •
I’ve been kicking around the idea of starting another blog with no identifying information so I can tell some of the stories that I come across at the shelter. You would be inspired by some some of the people that come through here. I never get tired of listening when they want to tell me where they’ve been, what they’ve learned, and where they want to go.
Well, almost never.
Some people just talk too freaking much.
• • •
I guess I SOLD OUT TO THE MAN or whatever. Over there on the sidebar is an Amazon dealio with some of my favorite books. If you click over to Amazon from there and buy something, I get, I don’t know, something. Probably enough to fulfill my lifelong dream of stopping at the gumball machine on the way out of the grocery store. And getting two gumballs. If you clicked over and bought, like, a car or something like that, I might be able to get a temporary tattoo of a dragon with a rose in its mouth.
I signed up for Google AdSense but I haven’t exactly figured out how it works yet, so you have a while before you have to ignore the Google Ad boxes. Mostly, I just signed up because Blissfully Domestic (Oh, why, yes, I DOOO write for Blissfully Domestic!) said I should. Something about getting revenue from the clicks on my articles over there. So you can blame all this AdSense nonsense on them. Or me. Whatever. *shrugs*
As long as you’re willing to listen to me blather on and on, I might as well take the clicks from the search engine traffic, right?
That’s the sound of me searching my soul.
• • •
I’ve talked about this before, but Oh Em Gee, it drives the proofreading portion of my brain to distress when I see contractions used incorrectly. IT’S = It Is. ITS = possessive. Sound it out.
This concludes the Blogging Public Service Announcement. (Paid for by the Typologically Anal Retentive Association With A Stick Up Their Big Old Butt.)
I sucked it up and realized I CAN’T CHANGE THE BLOGOSPHERE.
Wow. What a concept. Brilliant, Dory.
But I can change myself. I sat back and thought about what I could change about the situation.
This is what I came up with.
I’m mad at the blogosphere, so obviously I need more blogosphere.
I told you, um, duh. See also: Sarcasm above, i.e. Brilliant, Dory.
Anyway, I went and got more blogosphere. I went through a very popular, big-girl-blogger’s followers and one by one, added people and doubled who I was following just to see who would follow me back so I could meet some new twitstwats tweeple.
Hi, new tweeple! *waves*
I like the blogosphere again.
• • •
I guess that’s about all the damage I can do this time.
Have you seen my Google Friend Connect toy over there in my sidebar? Have you clicked Follow yet? Why not? What did I do? Did I rain on your parade? Did I pee in your Wheaties? Did I hock a loogy in your chock ‘o hoogy? Can you tell it’s margarita night? Is it that obvious? Do you have an balcoholic average too? No? Just me? Have you clicked follow yet? Why not? If you do, will I shut up? Would you like to find out?