Blondie Escapades--Let Loose in Savannah

Last week Man-Friend suggested we blow town for the weekend or at least for a night. Now I absolutely love ANY excuse to blow town, but have to admit that I get a bit of anxiety about overnight trips in small hotel rooms with him. I know the logical question, the one you’re asking yourself, “why?”

This is me on a good morning:

This is Man-Friend on ANY morning:

The combination of the two of us together in the morning is very similar to the combination of fire and gasoline, vinegar and baking soda, habenero hands and vagina...it's either destructive, messy or extremely painful. 

However, I decided to put my big girl britches on and go for it.

I like to eat. I know what you're thinking...well, duh, doesn't everyone? Good point, but when I say I like to eat, I really LOVE to eat, but I love to eat good food, not just anything that will fit in my mouth (which could really be gross because I've got a big mouth and I can think of lots of really disgusting things that COULD fit in my mouth, but that sounds like a whole other blog so I'm erasing those gag-me mental pictures now). Anyone who loves to eat should really learn not just to cook but to enjoy cooking.

That being said, after deciding to head to Savannah, an internet search led Man-Friend to Chef Joe Randall's Cooking School. Chef Randall has appeared in shows on The Food Network, HGTV, Georgia Traveler and has been featured in several food articles, renowned for his "southern style" cooking. After looking it over and deciding it looked like a positively scruptious meal and fun experience, we hit the road Friday afternoon, Savannah bound with the promise of a good meal and fun time ahead.

Chef Joe Randall in the Kitchen of his Cooking School

 I'll admit that when we first arrived, it was not what I expected.  It was a small building a bit wore out looking, and the interior was a cramped and cluttered.  However, wine and awesome food made this an awesome experience.

It was about a three hour affair and the portions were big...to big to eat everything so I had them box up my leftovers and desert.  As Chef Randall's wife was boxing my food, it happened.  You know what IT is.  It's the moment when your intestines wake up and say, "Hi asshole, how've ya been?  I think it's time we had a talk with toilet."  Oh NO!!! Not here.  Did I mention that this was a small compact space and the only bathroom in the place was located about three feet behind me, and that could only be a few feet more away from the other diners.  It was time to go!  Luckily for me we'd already checked into the hotel room prior to coming to dinner and the hotel wasn't that far away because it was another full on battle of the buttcheeks being waged during that ride, but we made it in time for that talk with the toilet. 

It was about 10:00 and neither of us were ready to sleep.  The night was hot and muggy and a swim sounded fabulous...however, there were two problems with that...the hotel had a rent-a-cop patroling the property and the pool area was closed and padlocked.  Do you think that stopped us?  Hell no!  We just hopped the fense like teenage pool crashers and jumped on in. Ahhhhhhhhmazing!  The rent-a-cop let us get away with it for a couple passes until finally and very politely asking us to evacuate the pool. 

The next morning the plan to avoid world war three and minimize my morning bitchitis was that happy pants Man-Friend was going to get up, go out by the pool and let me sleep.  So morning comes and Man-Friend gets up, gets dressed then asks me what time I want him to bring me a cup of rich awesome deliciousness sure to jump start the heart of even the sleepiest beast...otherwise known as a Starbucks Venti Quad Cappuccino.  With that in mind my response was anytime, and he was out the door.  A few minutes later he was back, with no coffee and laid back down.  Ok, this I can handle and back to sleep I went.  However it was short-lived and I awoke to him talking to me, asking me something or other to which morning bitch responded in full force..."OK, I'M UP!!!" His reply, "NO!! You don't have to do that!" As I was heading out the door to gather myself and smoke a cigarette I retorted, "Then why the freak do you keep talking to me?!" (I know, I know, filthy, stinky, disgusting habit, going to rot out my lungs, yada, yada, yada, shut the hell up).  I'm outside for about 5 minutes and when I come back into the room, there lies Man-Friend, on the bed, snoring and I seriously wanted to throw a chair at him in that moment but settled for, "Are you freaking kidding me!?!" 

I'm sure I looked WAY scarier than this woman.

It was about to get dangerous.  Sensing the danger level rising I decide to hop in the shower and Man-Friend did the next best thing to interveniously inserting large amounts of caffine into my blood stream before waking me up...he went to Starbucks.

Let the day begin!

We began our day by heading to Kitchenware Outfitters in search of an amazing citrus juicer we'd seen the Chef use the night before.  It was metal and both looked cooler and worked better than the orange plastic one I currently had, so I must have it.  Upon arriving at the kitchen store we were assisted by this very nice, but very sinister looking young lady:

I usually have the butcher remove the heads of the large animals
I eat prior to buying them and I don't cut up people in my bathtub so I don't
 think I'll be needing that cleaver today, but it looks really good on you in a creepy serial killer sort of way.

I absolutely love Kitchenware outfitters.  It's got everything that nobody needs for prices that few can afford, yet somehow I find I want it all.  I mean how about a $53.00 trivet (small metal thingamajigger that holds a hot pot that resembles a metal jacks), or a wisk large enough to whip up a room size bowl of mash potatoes, or for the savy grill master who wants to make sure he doesn't mix up who's piece of meat is who's...I give you the meat brander!

Susie Q likes her meat rare, while Bobby Whogivesafuck likes his welldone.  No longer will there be any question if you're giving the right steak to Whogivesafuck because you can brand it right on the meat!  Add to that it can second as a branding and torture tool for your garden variety sadist, rapist or serial killer and I'm sure this item will be a best seller in no time!

After spending way too much time in the kitchen shop, we were both hungry and decided to go to the mall for a little chow time people watching.  The day was extremely hot, not just miserable hot, but if I had balls I'm pretty sure I'd have sweated them off kinda hot.  The kinda hot that makes you feel sick just from walking from the car to the door.  However, I don't think any degree of hotness could excuse this teenage mom's fashion fiasco.

Why yes, that is her ass cheek waving hello at me as she walks her toddler into the mall. 

We didn't stay long at the mall and were headed back home shortly thereafter,  but I did find a couple things that warrant mention as awesome gift ideas.

Nothing says, "No officer, I don't have any drugs on my person or in my vehicle" like
these pot leaf party glasses, sure to be a great gift item for your teenage son or daughter.

Put a weenie in it!  Nothing says class and elogance like a good Weenie
Linguine.  Sure to be a crowd pleaser at your next business dinner.

And for that special man in your life, it's a Snuggie with shrinkage.

My personal favorite, and equally, um, fiting for Dad, Uncle Joe, your boss and co-workers
is this Gum Job Granny.  No pesky teeth marks from this pulseless princess!

Uncle Bob refusing to go to the proctologist this year cause he didn't like the way the Dr. looked at him when he asked if it felt good last year?  No worries, just get him this handy do it yourself prostate exam and he'll be bending over in no time.

Related articles

• The Charms of Savannah

  ---

• Savannah, Mon Amour

  ---

• Slideshow: 50 highest-priced properties in downtown Savannah

  ---

Dun Dunt Du DA, It’s Wonder Dick!

This week, inspired by the fabulous Lily, writer of the super funny blog The Incoherent Ramblins of a Moose! I took a look though some of my old blogs (posted on Myspace which should tell you how old they are).  I came across this one and decided to share the laugh I got from re-reading it.

You know I have some pretty fabulous friends and nothing surprises me anymore, but they never fail to amuse me. Yesterday was no exception. Sitting around the table on my patio yesterday with friends and family, laughing at the tall tales from our youth, one of my friends heard me ask another friend where his nickname came from, and thought that the question was directed at him. Instantly he goes into a story that at first made us wonder what in the world he was talking about, but then had the rest of us laughing so hard our sides hurt!

He started off by tooting his own horn, talking about being with so many girls in his single days that my cousin started calling him Wonder Dick. (I think the name probably came from "it's a wonder your dick hasn't rotted off yet!" But this is HIS story). So anyways, he then goes on to talk about this crazy shirt he had that had something hanging in the back almost like a cape. In fun he had drawn a WD in a superman type of way (standing for Wonder Dick) on the cape like part of that shirt. Shortly after he had gotten married the kids were gone, he was feeling frisky, and the wife was on her way home. So deciding to be playful, he strips down to his birthday suit and puts on his WD cape awaiting his wife's arrival. It's after dark when he hears a car pull up. He runs to the door, listens for footsteps, and just as he hears them at the door he throws the door open in all his gloriousness saying, "Dun Dunt Du DA!"

I'm sure he looked something like this, only not covering his penis!
Photo source The Dave & James Blog

and to his horror…it was not his wife, but his parole officer.

In a complete state of shock and humiliation, he slams the door and runs for his pants. The parole officer is outside dying laughing as he heads back to his car, deciding to try a visit another day. As he's pulling out of the driveway, the wife is pulling in. Still laughing so hard that tears are welling in his eyes, he stops the wife only long enough to ask her if her husband is doing drugs. Denying drug use and looking puzzled by the laughing officer, the officer says only, "You'll have to ask him…I can't tell you", while gasping for air through his laughter.

So the wife comes in completely bewildered to find a super embarrassed, fully dressed, limp dick for days to come husband to hear the tale of her superhero sporting a hard on, and not much else, doing the grand door opening for his parole officer. He suddenly didn't feel frisky anymore.

I'll bet that the cape was retired after that day, and that the parole officer learned to call first!

Related articles

• I can get into this fantasy - Parole Him

  ---

Fabulous Blog Ribbon

Anyone who knows me or has even read my blog for any amount of time knows I hate mornings, Mondays and EXPECIALLY Monday mornings.  Today was no exception.  After a restless night, it took everything in me to get up and start my day and the day has been a typical Monday full of aggrevations and irritations until a few minutes ago, when my day got brightened with one little email.

Thank you, Kelly!! Writer of the awesome blog, Dysfunctionally Functional.

In the "Blogosphere", there are little recognitions that Bloggers bestow upon each other in recognition and appreciation for other Blog(er)s.  Yesterday, Kelly bestowed a new one on my blog presenting me with the "Fabulous Blog Ribbon" which will be proudly displayed on my blog.  However, accepting imposes certain requirments upon me.

In order to accept you must:

1. Post the rules on your blog.
2. Name five of your most fabulous moments, either in real life or in the blogosphere.
3. Name five things you love.
4. Name five things you hate.
5. Pass the ribbon on to five other bloggers. (Leave them a comment to notify them of their win.)

5 Fabulous Moments

1. Giving birth to my son. 
2. Receiving my diploma. 
3. Divorcing my ex-husband. 
4. Scuba diving at the base of the Piton Mountains in St. Lucia. 
5. Getting my camera back after it had been stolen (with some very compromising photos of me still on it).  You'd have to read about it or have been there. 

5 Things I Love

1. My children, family and friends.  I don't know what I'd do without them, and couldn't imagine my life without them. 
2. Good food (and cooking good food).
3. Traveling and experiencing new adventures.
4. Being creative.  Whether it's writing, taking pictures, coming up with a new receipe or just coming up with an outside the box idea to get something done, creativity is a fuel that feeds my soul and lifts my spirits. 
5. Interesting and intelligent conversations. 

5 Things I Hate

1. Cockroaches.  Ewww...is any explaination needed?
2. Laundry.   
3. Being late or others being habitually late.  It gets under my skin and causes me anxiety. 
4. Mornings...Mondays...and especially Monday mornings.
5. Small crowded places. 

5  Other Bloggers To Pass The Ribbon To  

    (There are way more than 5 bloggers I feel deserving but I will tag only 5 in the hopes of cutting down on the amount of repeats any one blogger gets as these can be time consuming when tagged in several task oriented posts.) 

1. The Six Fingered Monkey. 
2. Mod Mom Beyond IndieDom
3. Mock Turtle's Musings
4. Chiz Chat 
5. Crack You Whip

I Need A Brain Scrub and A Bleach Bath

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Talking Shit…Literally

I know that girls aren’t supposed to burp and fart, let alone poop, but lets get real for a second…we do.  I work about 20 miles from my home and I have discovered that the road between home and work becomes endless if the urge to shit hits me.  I’ve many times found myself bouncing on the edge of my seat, butt cheeks clenched tighter than a steel vice grip, talking to myself saying, “Butt cheeks don’t fail me now!”, praying to God that I didn’t have to clean my car seat when I got home.  There often becomes a point where the urge will let up a little and I’ll find myself thinking, “I can make it”, until I make the turn into my neighborhood.  It’s like my bowels can sense that a toilet is near and the urge to spew the hot stinky gelatinous goo becomes almost unbearable.  The clenched butt cheeks begin to quiver and spasm as the pressure between them builds to dangerous levels, then as I turn into my driveway and park the car, I cannot immediately get out for if my ass leaves the counter pressure of the car seat, my butt cheeks alone will not contain the nastiness within.  So I sit there…sweat beading on my upper lip, bouncing in my seat, waiting for a moment when I feel it’s safe to make a mad dash to the bathroom.  The only problem?  The second I get out of the car, I’m again fighting the bowels vs. butt cheeks battle.

There’s an unmistakable walk of someone who’s about to shit themselves.  It’s easy to spot.  The lower half of the body usually leads, the butt cheeks move in a different rhythm than a normal gait as they strain to contain, the legs are straighter, the stride shorter yet the pace quicker with the back arched slightly backward to give support to the battling butt cheeks.  As I go in the door, I’m beginning to unbuckle and unbutton so that there will be no delay when I reach the bathroom.  The ass muscles are burning from the strain and then it happens…that precious moment when I quickly and clumsily plop onto the toilet with unstained panties, victorious! (Go Butt Cheeks!  Go Butt Cheeks!) The next few seconds release is arguably better than any orgasm as shivers rush through my body and I surrender to the toilet giving it my love offering. (Ok, maybe that’s going a little too far)

This woman obviously knows what I'm talking about.  See the look of total satisfaction?

 As bad as that situation is, it’s even worse when I’m not alone.  I recently found myself in this shitty situation.  I’d gone to dinner with man friend, then stopped at a store to pick up needed supplies, aka tequila.  We were talking with a friend when unexpectedly and without warning my tummy started gurgling, abdomen started cramping and suddenly I was in full on battle of the butt cheeks mode.  I was able to get out of the store and into the truck (hopefully without drawing too much attention to myself with my “don’t shit on yourself” walk).  It was only a couple minutes to the house, but those couple of minutes felt like hours as I found myself wondering why in the hell man friend had cloth seats instead of leather, thinking how much more difficult those seats would be to clean, and how mortified I’d be if I had to.  I could feel the sweat about to bead as he pulled into the driveway and I sprung from the truck and did the butt clenched poo poo gallop into the house.  While on the toilet I realized that making it to the toilet and the moments that followed were better than average sex.  This got me thinking…is it as good for you as it is for me?  I mean, we might not talk about things like this, but surely I’m not the only one to ever fight the bowels vs. butt cheeks battle.  With all the assholes in the world, mine cannot be the only one to strain unbearably against the butt cheeks.  So I’ve done what anyone in my situation would do and started asking.  I mean, inquiring minds want to know (ok, maybe just mine).

I’ve now talked to man friend, girl friends and guy friends about this shitty topic and while everyone’s experiences are different, we all have them.  After a tequila induced conversation with my guy friend CH last night, I decided it was time to make the taboo topic of poo poo a public topic. 

So what’s your most memorable or embarrassing bowel vs. butt cheeks battle?  

btw CH...I kinda liked your title idea of TTC (Turd Touching Cotton), but talking shit just seemed so fitting.

Related articles

• Skid marks get serious xxxxx Not for the sqeamish

  ---

Road Trip...WV Mountains, Hooters, Hillbillies and Toxic Fumes

This past weekend, I took a four day trip to the beautiful mountains of West Virginia.  My baby sister, who once lived with me but now lives with her paternal aunt and grandpa in the mountains, was graduating from high school so it was time for a road trip.  Friday morning my son and I are packed and ready.  We were soon joined by my baby sister’s (BS) best friend from middle school, then stopped to pick up my mother and off we went.  It took us about 8 hours to drive through Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia before we finally hit the West Virginia border.  It was rainy a good portion of the drive but the beauty of the mountains and the excitement of seeing family I hadn’t seen in over a year had us all in good spirits. 

I was driving on I77, my mother was taking pictures from the front seat and my son was taking pictures from the back seat.  As we climbed higher and higher on windy roads through the mountains, we eventually got so far in the woods that the ONLY radio station we could get was a blue grass station.  So here we are in the boonies listening to banjo music wondering what type of people we would encounter when we reached our destination.  The wilderness of lush greenery was beautiful and was occasionally interrupted by a small town or a run down shack in the middle of woods on a hill and I could just picture some old hillbilly man with few teeth sitting on the porch in the evenings playing his banjo with a huge wad of dip in his cheek as he spit off the side of the run down porch.  This brought on the whole mountain men, hillbilly stereo type conversation.  Little did we know how accurate we really were. 

My siblings and extended family live in a tiny mountain community of Lynco, miles away from any suitable lodging facilities so we were forced to stay in the town of Beckley and drive an hour each way to see them.  We arrived in Beckley at about 6:30 p.m. and decided to take a look at a few of the hotels before deciding on which one to stay at.  The people at the front desks were SO rude!  The friend traveling with us got a bit upset saying, "These people don't know us.  Us southern girls have both manners AND guns!"  As we were eating hostess cupcakes I came up with a brilliant idea to fit in better.  I told everyone that we should take some of the chocolate icing and black out a tooth or two and then everyone would think we were natives!  I know, BRILLIANT.  I then looked at my mom (who is missing a front tooth) and told her she didn't have to worry about it because she was already there.  For some reason she didn't find that near as funny as the rest of us did.

After unpacking our luggage at the Baymont Inn and Suites, we set off to baby sister's work, aka Hooters for a family reunion (I know...what a fabulous place for a reunion with the kiddos!).  A couple interesting things happened during our time at Hooters.  I got to meet my newest niece for the first time who is now four months old and so freaking cute I could just eat her up!  My son thought he'd died and went to hotty heaven but definitely didn't like the way one table of guys was looking at his aunt.  Then just after we ate, there was a ruckace on the other side of the restaurant.  All the waitresses were gathered and clapping for what I presumed was someones birthday.  Then BS comes running toward me and grabs my hand saying come here for a minute.  I assumed she was taking me to meet some of her coworkers when I suddenly became aware that I'd been set up.  It had been MY birthday a couple days before this and the gathering of clappers were preparing to embarrass ME.

Me standing on the chair praying I didn't lose my balance,
giving baby sister the look while son clapped along.

A paper sash was placed around me saying Happy Birthday and signed by all the waitresses.  Wearing my high wedge sandals I was asked to stand on a chair and try not to fall off and bust my ass or break my neck (which was harder than you might think in those shoes).  The waitresses then all began clapping loudly drawing all the other patrons attention to this ordeal as they sang their version of happy birthday and I gave BS the "you're so gonna get it for this" smile.

Baby Sister having a big time.

Other than the few minute chair balancing act, it was a good time connecting with my siblings I hadn't seen in a while and their paternal aunt.

To save money, my mother and I shared a room.  However, we were not alone.  While BS's BFF went home with them, my 14 year old little brother wanted to stay with us.  So it was me, my mother, my 11 year old son and my 14 year old brother...in one hotel room.  It wouldn't have been so bad except the hotel served boiled eggs for breakfast, and the boys ate them...a lot of them.  By lunch time it was a regular fart fest in that hotel room.  Both the boys farting away, trying to out do the other in both noise level and stinkiness.  They'd bust out laughing and let another one rip, further assaulting my nasal passages.  I might have been ok with just the two of them but then gas hit my mother, and when it comes to stinky farts, my mother is the champion!  She can clear a whole building I tell ya.  What comes out of that woman's ass should be bottled and used as a biological weapon!  I had to throw a couple in myself just to make the room smell better.

A short while after the fart bombing, we took to the roads to go for a BBQ with the family.  Thank God we'd be outside for a while.  We drove through winding roads with little to no shoulders and steep drop offs as we wound up the mountains toward our destination.  The only thing interrupting the wilderness was the occasional coal mining operation.  The scenery was beautiful and we eventually made it our river bank BBQ destination.

Beaver playing on the other side of the river from us.

The next few pictures are just a touch of the awesome sights from the overlook of the park we grilled at.  West Virginia is truly a beautiful place.

The next day was BS's graduation, so we make the winding drive and arrive at the high school to find that it is packed.  Every person in two counties must have been there (though it took three of them to equal a whole set of teeth).  I didn't realize there could possibly be that many people in the area.  Graduating along side BS was a Hatfield.  One of the direct descendants of The Hatfields and McCoys, Hatfields and I found out that the Hatfield cemetery was only about 15 minutes from where we were. 

It was a great ceremony after which my mother, two sisters, niece and BFF went for a celebratory dinner.  Being a small mountain town, the culinary selection was limited so we decided on Giovanni's which is basically a mid scale fast food pizzeria.  As we're sitting there eating I saw several interesting things while looking out the window.  Down the road there was a trailer where reflective overalls were being sold on the side of the road.  I was informed that they were coal mine uniforms, but found it interesting they were sold roadside from a small trailer parked somewhere in town.  Walking down the road was a man in overalls with no shirt or shoes with a wad of dip in his cheek so big you'd have thought he had a tumor until I saw him spit a big stream of nasty brown slobber on the pavement.  There were several people riding four wheelers through the middle of town, and this guy taking a casual stroll with his dog through the downtown streets on his lawn mower.

While a good many of the people would hurt my camera if I attempted to capture their images, the scenery is amazing.  These are just a few of the sights I saw along the way.

Left to Right:  My gigantic 11 year old son and my shrimpo 14 year old brother.

The next morning it was time to get back on the road and head home.  I'd put my son on egg restriction, but apparently not soon enough because I learned a very valuable lesson on Monday.  Road Tip of the Day: When traveling with a male child, always bring a gas mask.  The child's asshole must truly be wore out as he farted for the entire 11 hours we were making our way home.  I'm not talking about small stinkless farts; I'm talking about seat vibrating, nostril burning, something crawled up his ass and died type of farts.  I think I'm still feeling the effects of the toxic gas exposure from the ride home as surely I've been poisoned from the noxious fumes emanating out of his asshole.  But as much as I'm complaining, at least I wasn't the one who had to sit in the back seat with him. 

Related articles

• West Virginia, why do you do this to me?

  ---