I was thinking about clitorissussusses yesterday. (Clitori?)
Anyway, I was thinking about how them little buggers have no other reason for being other than to make happy time. No functionality. You can still digest food, breathe, move about, and procreate without one. Maybe a woman would do all that digesting and breathing more cranky, but still, isn't it awful nice to have a clitoris?
My little sister gave me an interesting book over the Thanksgiving vacation. It's out of print now and it should be, even though it has given me a good laugh.
She gave me the 1965 sixty-fourth reprinting of "The Modern Sex Manual" by Edward Poldosky, M.D., copyrighted 1942. Apparently my copy is worth as much as 16 bucks. Thanks Jill!
Though old Ed might have been highly educated, being a doctor of some sort, his writings lead me to believe that he's never had sex with the lights on or even with a real live woman at all. He tells me that I'm sexually frigid or immature if my clitoris doesn't change it's position to contact a man's winky during intercourse and that making contact with a clitoris in any other way leads to abnormal nerve stimulation and nervous conditions.
Oh, and he says that since I'm flatchested, it's readily apparent that I cannot have a satisfying sexual relationship because I'm sexually stunted and would have difficult pregnancies.
Ain't I glad I've got much better information available to me today! I do not have to remain a blushing unschooled bride when there is the internets with it's millions charts and graphics explaining my anatomy and the act to me.
Much better than this graphic from the book.
Mmmm, he looks vigorous. Me likey.
I'm trusting that you can educate yourself on the clitoris using Google. Find your own badly shot, badly dubbed, silicone filled and airbrushed charts.
In thinking about clitorussessesss this morning I'm wondering if I could assign another function to it and what that might be? Not that I'm disappointed with it's current function...no, not at all...I'm estatic about it. Men's happy bits have more than one function and I'm all about equality you know.
Perhaps it could produce some sort of signal that would let us women know if in fact we do look fat in our pants.
Maybe it could glandularly emit a soothing lavender sachet scent all the time, for even extra stress relief.
Or, it could light up or beep on the fertile days of your cycle so family planning becomes a cinch.
But then again, maybe us women would be better off to learn from example and we didn't multi-task so much.
Though, it's never occurred to me to throw anything at President Bush before. Not my shoes. Not my underpants. Not my husband's military or veteran's records.
Throwing something at him just strikes me as infinitely sensible.
I'm not throwing my leather Chuck Taylors at the man. I have my limits.
Now that the election is over and our Dubya will be leaving office, I'm at a loss to who I can openly declare a "twat". Those are huge shoes to fill, the title of Twat, since George Bush's terms are over. A replacement should not be considered lightly.
(And I hope to God it doesn't take two years of campaigning and discussion and debating to find a new twat. My heart couldn't take it.)
I've got to give President Bush his dues though. He's speedy! He's got reflexes! Not only has he dodged shoes, he's admirably withstood millions of people around the world calling him a twat for eight years without so much as a whine or a whimper.
And that takes a pretty hefty set of boxers my friends.
If you, my readers and other hangers on, have any candidates for a new twat in chief, feel free to nominate that person here. Party lines are unimportant. The new twat doesn't even have to be involved in politics at all.
To be fair the new twat must be living and must not be a serial killer or just any Joe Sixpack.
Saturday my husband and I packed the kiddos in our fabulous mini-van and trudged into the big city, through ice and snow and idiots, to go Christmas shopping.
We didn't do too badly in our retail efforts. It's not like we got our hands on a Wii, but we did manage to shake hands with some people who said they saw a Wii once. It was exhilarating.
Because we intended to be righteous and faithful consumers the parking gods blessed us with parking spots right at the front of the store. Usually we just park as far away as possible to avoid soul wrenching parking disappointments and the appearance of sin. This trip providence was with us, angels sang in multitudes, and parking spots opened up before us. And we were all amazed before the Target.
Ultimately our preferred parking led to disappointment in others. Justin and I have a Christmas shopping system in that we split up, fight about who watches which kid while we are apart, and then we shop without the prying eyes of the other. It's much like practicing military maneuvers, posting status reports on our rarely used cell phones while either of us stealthily run back and forth to the van to stow our purchases away under a blanket. This is when disappointment happens. No one waits to suck up your spot when you are loading things in your van parked a mile away from the store entrance. Parking suckers only pounce when you are close and then look at you in digust while you violate the Christmas spirit by leaving your van in that divine spot and walking back into the store.
It was not the peace sign I was flashed in this season of joy.
Even more of a miracle, at the end of our day, we settled on "eatin' good in the neighborhood" and the food was actually very tasty and no one wanted to share the bathroom stall with me. Hallelujah, Guitar Hero be praised.
This is my husband's collection of rubber bouncy balls.
I put them in the sink because it was really the only high place they couldn't escape out of and you could really see how many he has. My husband's balls are usually stored in one of those large tins that used to have Christmas popcorn in them. You know that popcorn...it's the stuff you buy for the last people on your list when you are cranky from holiday gift shopping and just want to go home and suck down Everclear. It's styrofoam but delicious, the popcorn...not the Everclear. My husband has so many balls this tin is filled to the brim.
My three year old found this bouncy ball collection yesterday.
And now you know what I've been doing all morning long.
As part of my new HOA duties, I've offered up my fourteen year old son and his un-work-challenged body for the cause of general maintenance.
Which means the HOA is willing to pay him ten bucks an hour to pick up trash, rake leaves, and weed around the fences. It's the kind of labor that God created 14 year old boys for.
Naturally he's thrilled about his new income and that one hour of work will buy him ten Burger King cheeseburgers. I've threatened that if he attempts to do the job half assed that I won't report his hours and he'll have to do the work anyway. No cheeseburgers for nosepickers.
Yesterday afternoon my son and I took a tour of the block so we could make a list of what could be done in the winter months only to find that some of my community partners have forgotten that their mothers aren't around to pick up after them...
...because they are just tossing their trash over the fences into areas that aren't so easily visible from the street, including their dog's doodies, which has resulted in no small mountain of festering post Alpo goodness.
On top of this, because of a new state law, we're required to raise HOA dues. In these times of economic difficulties no one will be especially happy about this. I will get complaints. It's easier to complain to me than to write a formal letter to a state senator in the big city. You can't explain or document enough that the law was made to protect their home owning association asses.
So, I am tempted to blame the increase in fees on doodie removal. It's a bio-hazardous job.
To which my son, after performing, won't want to eat the Burger King cheeseburgers he's so honestly earned, alrighty Fido McFidoson?
That is, time to take apart the computer and clean all the grunge out of it. It's not dirty enough to threaten it with the hose, but it's dusty for sure.
I'm also going to upend my keyboard, give it a few thumps, and have enough crumbs avalanche out of it to serve Shake N Bake pork chops for dinner.
Waste not, want not.
It's important for the tech savvy housewife to keep her computer clean inside and out. I think they should market air in a can to Mommy Bloggers much like packages of douche. Put a contented and refreshed woman in a white shirt standing casually in the sunshine on the front of the can with a slash that proclaims it's "Guava Scented". It'll sell.
As God is my witness, I'll never blow a power supply again!
Time to clean out programming and files too. Those are full of spicy little crumbs.
Those pictures of me wearing the Halloween themed saran wrap and the witchy hat? Gone.
Those pictures of my husband wearing the Halloween themed saran wrap and the witchy hat? Keepers...wait...Gone...no, keep...nah, they go.
I'm getting rid of this photo too:
My WAV file collection of belches has outlived it's usefulness. It seems a well timed pre-recorded belch is so last year.
Does anyone play Duke Nukem anymore?
Seems you can't get rid of all the free AOL trial software installed at the factory and hidden all over this comp. No, I don't gots mail. I don't wants your mail. I don't wants your evil Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan conspiracies.
Windows 98. Sigh, I loved ye. I'll set you free and if it's meant to be you'll come back.
If all goes smoothly, I'll have time to take new photos to fill up my dust free spaces. I have Christmas themed saran and a santa hat, uh huh.
It could be just the normal winter dry sinuses or I've accidentally snorted my dumb gay cat in my sleep. I swear there is something up there. It keeps shifting around at inconvenient moments. I'd have to go at least past the second knuckle to try to push back this hernia in my head.
At home lobotomies are frowned upon in intellectual circles.
So, I'm feeling abnormally off kilter instead of my usual lovable off kilter. Since the cat is whining to go out, maybe I snorted the set of five pound hand weights next to the bed. They are rubber coated for comfort.
I'll take a shower later and crack my tub when the steam causes ten pounds of weights to slip out of my right nostril. That's OK. I hate my tub insert. A nasal accident gives me the excuse to replace it with something less motel chic.
Only half of my legs will get shaved today if that's the case.
But lord I'm swollen up in my head. If I didn't know better I'd claim I am nose pregnant. No, I don't know how that happens.
I've needled my husband for the last fifteen minutes for names of celebrities he thinks are hot, so I can make fun of them and through that make fun of him. Justin has given me the names of two very attractive celebrities which I've nixed because there is nothing to make fun of. They are decidedly dull. Talented and lovely, but dull.
Even his eyes glaze over when talking about their upper body anatomies.
I've threatened to pick one out for him. He's threatened in turn to fart in bed and throw the covers over my head.
Funny, his eyes started to sparkle at that notion. Justin tells me that if I ever am on the receiving end of a dutch oven that the honeymoon is over. Then, as if to emphasize the point, he put a movie in the DVD player and began to watch little men with hairy feet battling cave trolls and orcs.
It was in watching Frodo's impending doom when Justin offered up a celebrity I can work with. Hopefully she won't mind being referenced with hairy feet. She doesn't seem very hairy to me but you never know. The rich and famous have access to hair removal and photoshopping that I only dare dream of someday.
My husband thinks Julia Stiles is hot.
My husband would never fluff the covers over Julia...ever...not even if she begged.
He's not yet done such a thing to me but that's not really the point is it?
You know Julia Stiles. She's that deep thinking artsy girl in all those deep thinking artsy girl movies. She has a quizzical brow and no use for upper body undergarments.
I also found this photo of Julia, which I sort of prefer in light of my husband's wizard induced crushy poo.
Here is Julia starring in "The Omen 666", dangling her petite hairy toesies off a ledge. That large white scarf covers her up a hell of a lot better than that teeny red one. I don't see a belly button anywhere.
Oh Julia Stiles, you badly rhymed sonnet spouting tart! Why do you attract my husband so? Sorry, dumb question, I don't find you dull so it's only logical that Justin wouldn't find you dull either.
Those Jason Bourne movies are kinda awesome even if they do make me a little motion sick.
And if Justin can't choose a tart next time, I'm choosing Matt Damon, Lord of the Rings or not. Matt's worth a little fluff.
Psst...don't look now, but I've got p0rn on this site.
I said don't look! You're incorrigible.
Justin, my history teaching husband, is finding that he cannot read my site during the day because the all powerful school filters have determined I'm filthy.
My site is not safe for work. It's not safe for children. It's not safe for the elderly and it's certainly not safe for anyone with heart troubles. You must be at least four feet tall to read my site. You may not read my site while on heavy medication or inebriated. You shouldn't read my site if you are pregnant, plan on getting pregnant or nursing.
My site causes dry mouth.
What I figure is that the school filters honed right in on my offer to sell you my boobs. You should not be even thinking of buying strap on polyester boobs while at school. You should be thinking on how to be a better citizen.
My site causes an inability to diagram sentences.
What's funny is that my older sister's work computer filters out every other image on my site except for the offer to buy my boobs. Not one of her coworkers have purchased any strap on boobs so the highlighting of my offer cannot be all that titillating. Maybe they already own strap on boobs and don't need any more. You can only own so many pair before it starts to look suspect.
My site causes deviancy, promiscuity and shoplifting.
Here is your warning, you readers and other hangers on. I'm bad for you. Elko County School District has deemed it so. You may very well be reading at your own risk but for goodness sake, don't sue me if small animals begin to look so very attractive.