There’s a huge green grasshopper stalking me.

And I’m a little flattered that someone cares enough to do so.

2. Unfriendly Chick

I mean, seriously, I get that it’s retail- coffee-flavored retail, grant you- but retail nevertheless… And working retail sucks all sorts of hairy monkey balls on the best of days…

But you work at Starbucks, dude… You’re s’pose to make me feel like the grouchy bitch that I am and demand that I be more chipper… you’re not s’pose to be so bloody sullen and depressed.

Now, instead of walking out all caffeinated and refreshed, I just feel dirty.

3. Bitch in the Box

Believe it or not, there’s actually a  small part of me that is constantly demanding that we skip on the foreplay and get right down to the thick of  things as quickly as possible…

Of course, most of the time, I totally ignore that part.

Thankfully, iTunes totally doesn’t.

A quick click of a button, and I’m good.

Of course, when gratification is so close at hand… I often tend to get super greedy and super click-y. Which is all fine and dandy since I totally get the pay to play aspect of this relationship…

Matter of fact, I embrace it.

What I don’t embrace, however, is the silly system that lets me click and click (and click and click and click) and doesn’t bother to charge me until a week or two down the road…

In one freaking giant lump sum.

That I have to hide like a bad gambling debt.

And consider selling either a liver or a really good time to make up for it.

4.  Chick Checking Herself Out in Rearview Mirror

Yeah, honey, that Bump-it is still on your head… and it doesn’t look any better than you thought it did when you left the house this morning…

And your friend there? The one telling you how cute it is and that you’ve never looked better and recommended that you wear it with the spandex-esque skirt?

She’s what we southern ladies call an ‘bold-faced lying uber-cunt’.

5.  … And Goddemmit, could it be any freaking hotter?

I mean, seriously, don’t you ever stop and think, “Hmmmm… why don’t I talk more about motorcycle helmets?”

No? Really?

Then you’re totally missing out…

5 Reasons Why Judith Thinks That Motorcycle Helmets are The Bomb Diggity (And Why You Should Too)

1. Motorcycle helmets protect your noggin and may well save your life at one point or another.
2. They keep the bugs out of your mouth.
3. They make your Mister Roboto voice that much more awesomer.
4. They come with Bluetooth. And anything with Bluetooth is gravy in my cookbook.
5. A lot of them are made out of the same material as my new sex toy.

See? Aren’t you glad you kept reading?

Superhero PR Dude Drew (of cookie fame) sent me over this nifty new friend just about the time that my husband took off for Louisiana to work. (Yay, Drew!) The shape had me tilting my head in speculation and the color was rad in a very jellies in the summertime sort of way… But what really sold me was the fact that the Crystal Wand is made of Lucite (motorcycle helmet stuff— see how nicely I tied that in?? Awesome, I am. Yoda-like too.), which is super sturdy, incredibly smooth, cleans easily, and heats up quicker than you can say…

Whatever it is that you say when you’re… well… you know.

(I generally stick with the “f” word. And, no, I don’t mean “Funyuns”… Not that there’s anything wrong with “Funyuns”, so if you’re one of those people who say “Funyuns” when you’re… well.. you know; it’s all good. Really, it is.)

Now, I’ll admit…  it took me a moment or two (or three) to “get the hang of it” as the wand isn’t shaped for the normal ins-and-outs associated with this type of adult toy. Matter of fact, there’s really no “ins-and-outs” about it so much as a flipping, flicking, switching motion to aim it in the right direction.

Think light switch…

Or one of those old-timey water pumps.

Yeah…

But once I caught on, I was good to… ummm… go.

And once I realized that I could do it hands-free, I was good to… ummm… go again.

The Crystal Wand is available at my favorite online adult store, Eden Fantasys, and is well worth the $42.99 price tag, and while you’re there picking up some goodies (don’t forget the costumes, adult videos, and couple aids), be sure to check out their new online magazine slash sex guide slash hub of sex culture, Sexis.

I was totally hooked the moment I came across an article titled, The 25 Hallmarks of Bad Cunnilingus, which includes such gems as:

#2.Mr. Scratchy. A five o’clock shadow is nice, but not when being raked against one’s tender bits. No one (except, brief shout out to you BDSM pain sluts out there) likes clitupuncture.

#12. Gum-Chewing. I don’t want to be minty-fresh. If I did, I’d insert an Altoid. Or a Listerine strip.

#21. Blowing in It. What is this all about? The queef is one of the most unflattering noises that can be made in the bedroom. Why anyone would want to create a situation where that might occur is beyond me. A small aside on queef etiquette: It didn’t happen, you didn’t hear it, and it is to be ignored completely and totally.

Honestly, how can you not want to rush on over there and laugh your ass off (and perhaps learn a few things as well)?

No? You don’t? Really?

WTF, dude? You’re so not getting another top five list in this post… So just do what say already.

You’ll enjoy it.

I promise.

Things have been unbelievably insane around these here parts as of late, and I’ve barely had time to brush my hair,  much less figure out something clever about which to blog.

Unless one counts that draft about ingrown hairs in the most uncomfortable places (read: eyebrows, the outer labia) as clever.  Painful? Most definitely, yes. But I think that calling it “clever” might be pushing it a little…

Even if it is in iambic pentameter.

So in lieu of a rhyming entry on the perils of inappropriate hair removal, I thought I’d just give you all a (relatively) quick Top Five on what’s been going down in Shakespeare-ville over the last few weeks:

1.  I cured my baby fever.

I’ll admit it. That new baby smell makes my uterus ache something fierce. A couple of snuggles with my new little nephew, and I was all looking at my husband with that “you know you wanna knock me up” sparkle in my eye. (Of course, he was too busy looking at my breasts to give a patoot about what was happening with my eyes.)

But then I got stuck babysitting all of the kids.

“All of the kids” as in a three-year-old, two five-year-olds,  the smart ass ten-year-old, and the newborn.

Two hours in, I was desperately trolling emo websites to find the correct method of slitting one’s wrists with a  razor blade.

Three hours in, I realized that I should probably start investing in sharper razors.

2.  I cured my baby fever.

We finally got to bring home Phineas a couple of weeks ago… even though we had to drive nearly to Kentucky to do so.  Everyone was so excited on the way home, giggling every time that cat so much as blinked. Once home, we all sprawled about the livingroom, spending hours tossing a little yarn ball and watching the little fluff of cat chase after it.

And then we went to bed.

And then the cat cried.

And then I turned the  light back on.

And the the cat cried louder.

And then I put it in the bed with us.

And the he sat on my head, and bit my nose, and scratched my eyelid, and attacked my feet, and ate my hair, and got stuck in Peter’s chain..

And then I put it back on the floor.

And then the cat cried.

And then I turned the  light back on.

And the the cat cried louder.

And then I put it in the bed with us.

3.  I cured my baby fever.

I’m either really fertile during a certain part of the year, or I’ve  simply got mad  organizational skillz (yo) as I somehow managed to give birth to my children in subsequential order. Birthdays around here are celebrated in January, February, and March. It’s what we like to refer to as the “Birthdays Season”- which closed this year on the 29th of March with That Middle One’s 5th.

While picking up his custom-ordered cake that he’d been asking for for a month, he suddenly decided that he did not want the [already purchased] cake and would much prefer the stack of semi-frozen Superman cupcakes on display.

Matter of fact, he insisted on them.

Insisted as in pitched a holy hell “oh my god, my child is obviously the spawn of the devil, somebody find me a new priest and an old priest, post haste” fit.

Needless to say, we had Superman cupcakes for his birthday.

Those and a bag of “Birthday Hot Cheetos”.

4. I’ve cured my baby fever.

Did you know that it’s actually possible to flush an entire stuffed cat, two Bionicles, and a pair of  earrings down the toilet all at once?

Me neither.

Aren’t I lucky to have a toddler who does?

5. I’ve cured my baby fever.

Peter was offered a really great job back in our hometown in Louisiana… This means that we’ll be moving AGAIN.  Feel free to go back through my archives for a definite count; I lost it three houses and two states ago. I’ve got lots of misgivings about this move, all of which I’m sure I’ll get into later, but it is home. And familiar. And filled with real-life friends whom I’ve known since grade school.

And the job pays really well.

So well, in fact, that he had to leave last week in order to get started.

Which means that I’m still here.

PLAYING THE ROLE OF SINGLE-MOTHER.

Until the summer.

BY MYSELF. … … … … …

Hey there! Long time, no blog, eh?

I’m so very sorry for not keeping in touch, but we had a recent death in the family. Namely, my uterus. And I was busy baking a batch of celebratory consolation Superman cupcakes.

But I’m back now.

Sorta.

Did you miss me?