Category - Humor

Laugh It Up

1
Click Bait and Your Vagina…Sometimes They Both Promise Too Much
2
Untouchable
3
Romancing the Writing
4
Writing With a Smile
5
What, Me Write?
6
No Good Deed
7
Billionaire Bastard
8
I Live to Serve (Myself)
9
Aging Graycefully
10
Mommy Blogger Love

Click Bait and Your Vagina…Sometimes They Both Promise Too Much

Things You Should Never Put In Or On Your Vagina. That was the title of the article I simply had to go read. Because, you know, what if my husband’s penis is on the list? Here is the article. Feel free to read it, but I’ve condensed the whole thing for you if you want to save time and put your vagina at ease. I know you do.

#1 Douches. Too late for that tip, thank you. I didn’t get married until my thirties so more than a couple of douches spent some time hosing me down there.
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#2 Fruits and Vegetables. Duh. Everybody knows you don’t mix a tossed salad with your douche hole.salad

#3 Rubber and Plastic Sex Toys. Dammit. I knew I shouldn’t have put Legos in my baby canal, but it was better than stepping on them. As for rubbers, not using those is why my house was filled with Legos in the first place.ooh-rubber-ducky-1403551375 Photo courtesy of redditgifts.com

#4 Body Art. Vajazzling is just plain overkill. Maybe it’s just my irresistible pussy parts, but they already attract more attention than I am comfortable with. So unless I want to risk spelling out, “Not Now,” with glue and glitter, I will pass on the cooch crafting craze.glitter balloon Photo courtesy of Miss Kris

#5 Hair Dye. Somehow having to touch up any roots down below would be WAY more maintenance than I have the time or interest for. I’ll dye my pubes when guys are willing to dip their junk in Dairy Queen chocolate that hardens and cracks off as soon as you bite into it.dq-treats-wafflecone-chocolatecone

#6 Tea Tree Oil. Okay, all these snake oil salespeople need to step away from my tampon tunnel. Anything that can be used as insect repellant, mold remover, and fights boils from staph infections does not belong in my self-cleaning oven. Tea Tree oil foot Photo courtesy of http://www.examiner.com/

#7 Anything That Has Been In Or Around Your Butt. So my dog’s nose is off the menu. Duly noted. pets.webmd_ Photo courtesy of pets.webmd.com

#8 An Electric Toothbrush. Safe to say my gums will be the first to testify that scrubbing the pink with bristles moving 2,000 rpms is neither comfortable, nor sexually stimulating. While I understand the desire to keep the magic muscles plaque free, if that is your issue, you will need more than a toothbrush.sonicare-toothbrush

#9 Oil-Based Lubricants. Unless you are starting a yeast culture for some Amish Friendship Bread, leave the oil in the pan, not your pusswhah. Oh, and just in case you’re wondering, I did some in depth research, and did not find vagina anywhere on the following list. Which is rather surprising when you see the list. article-2470140-18E1894500000578-242_634x408 Photo courtesy of the Daily Mail

I think we’re done here.

Untouchable

DELICATE LONER meme

Romancing the Writing

Nothing More Romantic or Delusional  xx

Writing With a Smile

Writing is like dental care. No matter how long you brush with Sonicare, floss, and use anti–plaque mouthwash, the hygienist always sees room for improvement. At some point you have to say, my teeth look and feel good enough to smile and eat with, so fuck the hygienist.Sossaman-Dental-Care-Mesa (photo courtesy of Sossaman Dental Health and Implant Center, Mesa, AZ)

With writing, you can write, rewrite, edit, and beat a piece to death in the hopes of reaching creative perfection. Send it off to an editor and there will always be room for improvement. A good writer has to learn when something is good enough, and let it go. The dental hygienist’s job is to make suggestions and help you do better, not write the 10 Commandments of gum disease. “Thou shalt not rest until your teeth gleam and your gums never bleed.”

Seeking perfection in anything is self-defeating. Setting the bar too high will stunt your production or paralyze you with fear. A little plaque or pink gums is not the end of the world, or your health. And there comes a time when other things in life call out to be dealt with or enjoyed. Choices are what life is made up of. So scrape the plaque off your piece and move on to hair removal, child care, or Facebook posting.

“Courage is not a man with a gun in his hand. It’s knowing you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what.” [Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird ]

Sometimes it takes a gun to your head to actually write, but doing it regardless is part of the process. So floss, and write, and see it through. Just learn to know when “through” means through, and allow yourself the chance to do it all over again. Sometimes you have to bleed a little in the process.

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What, Me Write?

Wooly Writing meme xx

No Good Deed

Scene: It is 9 degrees F, but a sunny day. A daughter pulls into the circle drive in front of a hospital entrance. There are two other cars in the drive. She angles her car between them to get close enough while allowing any other vehicles room to pass. She assists her 91-year-old mother into the vestibule, plops her into a wheelchair, locks the wheels, and exits. Just outside the revolving door, daughter realizes she is holding her mother’s purse. Zips around and hands it to her in her wheelchair, telling her to be patient and wait right there while she parks the car. An estimated 90 seconds have passed. She hops into the car and pulls away.

Scene: Car interior with the daughter pulling out of the circle drive to go park. (Me. I’m the daughter. The person taking care of her mom. Punching my ticket to Heaven.) Female Angel xx

There is an open space at the far edge of the lot. I grab my purse, don earmuffs, and put a full-length down coat on to head back to the hospital building. I feel good. Even peppy. It’s not too windy, so the frigid cold doesn’t cut like it can in Illinois. All good so far.

Mom is waiting patiently in her wheelchair, which is always a relief. I never know if she’ll hold on to my directions long enough to follow them. I spin her around and head towards the door into the hospital.

“Here we go!”

Before I even get any momentum, a tall, bouffant-haired woman, with the face of a snarling gargoyle looks directly at me with dark angry eyes as she brushes past to leave the hospital.

“I called your plates into the police.”

“Okay” pops out of my mouth a little too fast.

The automated door opens so we roll forward. Mom didn’t hear her, and certainly has no idea our little “convo” just happened. That woman just pulled a drive-by shooting. I’m wounded, but not critically. Fully aware I didn’t do anything to deserve it, I am in shock. That was her go to? Her first response to my car supposedly inconveniencing her in the circle drive? Seriously? Other cars were in the way as well. People take turns. But I guess that minute-and-a-half is gone for her and she’ll never get it back.
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The women at the desk in the cardiologist’s office are surprised when I tell them someone just called my plates in. I mouth “what the fuck,” and one laughs encouragingly. Like, who does that?

“Where were you?”

“Just in the circle drive. You know, assisting my elderly mother into the building.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I would love to talk to a cop and explain it all.”

It’s funny how a little spark like that woman’s comment can ignite my day. I don’t feel bad about it, but it sticks with me because I am so amazed by it. I try, to a fault, to be considerate, and to be “good” like a “good girl” should. Sometimes I sneak a couple of extra items through the express line, but overall? I’m no Lizzie Borden. So her anger surprises and baffles me, but mostly it sticks in my craw, niggling away at my psyche. I did what I always do, made people laugh about it. Laughed myself. But it is still there, like a bed bug, biting without really feeling it, and leaving a little itchy mark.

In the end, I know she is a miserable person who is probably having a miserable day. And that is just sad, but I really resent her passing any of her pus my way. I hate scraping that shit off while trying to make sense of it. There is no sense to be made. I simply need to move on. But the stench of her venomous action lingers. The worst thing about something like this is it immediately makes me second-guess myself. I rerun my actions in my head, searching for the criminal action worthy of a call to the police.

Will my car be towed from the lot? Will I be issued a citation? Am I a bad person?

Obviously, no cop in their right mind is going to do a damn thing about some woman who took too long in a circle drive of a hospital. Because it is a ridiculous call. Nothing happens. No arrest. No ankle monitor. And yet I am grateful there are no warrants out for my arrest. That might have made me ugly grumpy too.

IL PLate WTF xx

I Live to Serve (Myself)

Nom MEME xx

Aging Graycefully

Reinvented Myself xx

So here’s the deal. I am reinventing myself once again. First, with invisalign braces. Why at 60, you ask? I clench my teeth when I sleep. I mean like a gator closes onto its prey and does a death roll, clench. Only in my case, the death roll is me trying to switch to my other side for comfort, which has become a three-step process, more akin to an overturned turtle struggling to right himself. At any reptilian rate, clenching has affected my bite and shifted my teeth. Nothing so heinous I couldn’t live with it, but my smile is everything. As my face does a glacial slide off my skull, I want my teeth to remain glorious. Hell, they last long after death, so it’s really a pretty good investment. And should anybody find my body in a ditch near some deserted farmland, those puppies will be talking to the forensic scientists in all their bleached, perfectly aligned glory.

The next big decision for me has been to stop dying my hair and go au naturel. It all started when my roots become a problem during long camping trips. This year, instead of rushing to my hairdresser with shame in my eyes and money in my pocket, I decided to wait. Then I waited a little more. Then I knew this was the time to make the change. It was a head start, if you will, that I was going to make the most of.

The teeth? They will be done in under a year. The hair? More like 18 months to two years to get it all grey and to my current length. No interest in cutting it short to hasten the process, I am going cold turkey and letting my root-flag fly. It’s exhilarating. First, the cost of having my hair done has been halved. With the help of a calculator, that means my invisalign braces will be paid off by those savings in about 7 years. Worth it!

Before this decision, hair growth was my master, and I its willing slave. There is no judgment on people who choose to color their hair right up until their last breath. Hair is such a powerful, personal statement for women. Curl up and dye to your heart’s content. This is simply my choice at this point in my ever-changing life. The nice thing about changing hair? It has absolutely nothing to do with body weight, flabby upper arms, or any other body image issues women deal with. I can still eat whatever the hell I want, and my hair will not go through any serious withdrawal symptoms as it is released from its chemical dependency. (Well, except for looking like a freak who went to prison, e.g. Jodi Arias, who no longer has access to the luxury of hair dye and shocks everyone who hasn’t been seen in a while.) Which is where the following pictures come in…

I am taking along anyone who cares to join me. You can see how ugly the process may be, but rejoice in the fact it is happening to me, and not you waking up from a long absence like Rip Van Winkle, only to scream at the mirror, “MY HAIRRRRRRR! It looks like some Neopolitan ice cream experiment gone terribly wrong!” Feel free to mock me, judge me, and opine on why this is an unacceptable choice for you. Sometimes change takes longer than feels comfortable, but I know this is the right move for me. The idea of being totally free of root-rage or worrying over what color looks best as my face slides past my glorious smile makes me giddy with anticipation. So hair’s to me and my journey to “graytness.”

October 2015
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November 2015
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Mommy Blogger Love

Hi, I don’t use my birth name anymore so just call me “Socially Awkward” and it’ll be fine. I’m so happy to share some of my experiences here at ASMB. (Adult Survivors of Mother Bloggers) Clearly anyone who had a mother with a Mommy Blog knows the joys and pitfalls affiliated with the fad that almost broke the internet at the turn of the new century. I have returned to life outside the cave I found so comforting and am here to tell my story. Starting up this support group truly freed me to be me, and to accept my mother’s difficult choices. I am one of the lucky ones.

Mom Blogger art xx

Mom and I have worked through most of our stuff and are rebuilding our relationship every day. She’s even allowed unsupervised visits with her grandchildren now. As long as she turns in all cell phones, cameras, pads, laptops and recording devices before passing through a metal detector. The fact that she is willing to change because of the court order is huge.

Now that I too have become a writer, I have great sympathy for how difficult it is to produce good work on a regular basis. It can be daunting. So I understand why my mother did whatever it took to be successful in her trade. She rose to fame in a field so competitive, it is a story of triumph like no other. She truly did what she had to do, to separate herself from the pack.

Some of her stories weren’t all that uncommon. Walking in on my parents having sex was somewhat traumatic, but not unusual. It was such an innocent mistake…following that trail of Reese’s Pieces to the cracked door of their bedroom with a full bag in sight just beyond my reach. I was so young I didn’t think it even had any impact until the featured movie at a friend’s sleepover was E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial and I ran vomiting from the room during the iconic Reese’s scene. What a disgusting movie. Who would show that to a bunch of kids? What kind of parents did they have?

While it is still unclear how my head ended up in a shit-filled toilet, or how Mom had her camera ready in that harrowing moment, I was okay when it went viral. I’d never seen Mom happier. She even took me to McDonald’s and didn’t pull out her cell phone for a picture once. As it turns out, I still love having my head shaved and prefer wearing it that way to this very day. In fact, I never feel like it is quite short enough. I love a clean-shaven head so much, sometimes I make my scalp bleed. I am a little OCD, but that’s perfectly normal. Everybody has their little quirks. So what if I use bleach instead of shampoo?

But the moment that really defined Mom’s career, was the video of me sucking on a used tampon. She was giddy with how fast that one shot around the world. You would think it would eventually fade into obscurity, but I guess a classic is a classic. I didn’t mind changing schools every other year, and I don’t really need tomato juice or tea. Life is quite sublime without either of those revolting drinks. If a person orders one in my presence, I simply excuse myself and empty the contents of my stomach in the restroom. More room for lunch, I always say!

And I really didn’t mind Mom dressing me up as Miley Cyrus for my kindergarten Halloween party. I just wish she had found a nude bodysuit for me instead of having to actually sit naked on a silver Pilate’s ball. I’m from the Midwest, and it is cold in late October. A sheepskin saddle would have helped. But apparently that really got her blog traffic up, so I can be proud. And I did get a signed picture from Jared Fogle out of that post, so it wasn’t all bad. The irony of both a wrecking ball and her being connected to my life went completely unnoticed.

Mom & Daughter xx

I knew she was under a great deal of pressure. It wasn’t easy blogging in an overly-crowded, fiercely competitive arena. Traffic and numbers meant everything. That’s why I knew she didn’t mean to hurt my feelings when another blogger’s kid-quote ended up winning a weekly shout out to funny moms, and my mom slapped me hard across the face, screaming, “Why can’t YOU say shit like that?” Sometimes working moms crack under pressure.

Or the time I ran home to show her I had just made the honor’s club, and might be in the running for class valedictorian, she smiled and said, “That’s great, honey. Now put on that goth crap I got you, cut yourself with the razor blade, and roll your eyes for the camera. I have a deadline to meet.” I knew she was proud of me, but there is nothing worse than writer’s block. She did what she had to do, and I was her palette. Some kids never get the attention I got. I was lucky she loved me enough to put me front and center on her blog.

If there is one life lesson to be had from all this, it is that a mother’s love can never be replaced. And I will always remember her for the love she shared with the world. I’m working on forgiveness, and that’s where my book comes in. Sharing what growing up with a Mommy Blogger was like for me, has been absolutely empowering. I love being able to return the favor for all the wonderful publicity Mom gave to me. Writers know it’s all about finding your voice, and I want mine to be the voice heard ‘round the world.

Thanks for making me who I am today, Mom. I love you and look forward to hitting the talk-show circuit to share the love…just as you worked so hard to share with such unparalleled success.

Share the Love image  xx

Copyright © 2014 Amy Sherman

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