So, I read your blog today, as usual. Then, I tried to comment. I wanted my comment to say "I bet goldilocks has an innie."
BUT, my computer wouldn't let me post. SO, I texted it to you. Then, I added some. Basically, I said
me: ohno
Lila: "i bet goldilocks has an innie. I wonder what I have. Hmm, I went to the gyno today. I should have asked her! I mean, i bet she sees soooo many that she would know, right? I just hope mine's not porridge. or oatmeal...yet at least. but i guess that's a better question for my boyfriend."
BUT
instead of sending it to you
i ACCIDENTALLY
sent it
to my coworker at work.
me: AHAHAHAHAHAHHA
Lila: and she was like "wtf?"
Lila: I had some explaining to do there.
me: omg
Lila: haha, she's cool. But, i feel SO awkward
so, i was like
Oh, sorry Jeannine! That wasn't for you
then write
me: technology is so dangerous
hahaha
Lila: wrote: that was for my friend schad, he writes a blog about vaginas and porn
(which doesn't sound much better!)
me: yeah that's much better
Lila: i know!
so, then she was like, "haha, okay"and i sent her the link to your blog
me: she's like "i don't think this is really appropriate for work"
Lindsay: now you will have a new reader, and i will have a co-worker who thinks about oatmeal vagina every time she looks at me.
maybe you should post this story...
Lila: NO Oatmeal Vagina at work. I'm pretty sure my boss wrote that in the office rules.
DONE
how are you dearie?! Don't you have to go to bed?
me: porridge poon
i'm good!
Lila: hey, shut it
i DO NOT have porridge poon!
me: stressed but pretty good
is it mm mm good?
Lila: stressed? work? boys? smelly people at work?
After a little looking around, I found out what a "hybrid pussy" is. On the BangBros website, one can browse through the girls according to physical attributes. The options for pussy are innie, outie, and hybrid. I'm guessing this refers to the positioning of the labia. Innie would mean not being able to see the inner labia at all. Outie must mean having mad beefdrapes flapping out of the outer labia. Hybrid should be a happy medium.
That reminds me of three really close female friends I lived with my freshman year of university. They were like Goldilocks and The Three Baginas. They showed me their vaginas all the time. One kind of looked like it was trying to swallow itself, or it had just eaten something sour; one was a definite outie; and the last was just right.
(More evidence for Team MANtasha: an apparent happy trail.)
It only took about two minutes of browsing a porn website, and I found Natasha, or "Scarlett Mei Dior." Tacky name, slut. I wonder if she even got to choose it though. You can see her in action here: ()
Summary Scarlett Mei Dior is beautiful, and very well spoken. High cheekbones, sensuous eyes, and a pretty smile characterize Scarlett’s facial features. Scarlett was featured on a reality television show, and now she is ready for the biz. She has a toned body showcasing strong flat abs, a firm ass, and a pretty pussy with a clit piercing. In addition to all her other physical attributes, Scarlett has a nice set a boobs. Although a bit shy in front of the camera, when Scarlett relaxes, the sexual tigress emerges to entertain all with erotic magic.
Oooooookay, I have a few issues so far:
1) What the fuck is a hybrid pussy?!? Does it get really good mileage? Is it better for the environment? Is it rather quiet compared to other inefficient pussies? Is it pretentious? 2) "Erotic magic?" Is she pulling a rabbit out of her hybrid pussy?
The title of her video is "An Ohio Handjob." Here's the blurb for it:
"Overlooking a beautiful Miami view Scarlett is a pleasant distraction. Why pay any mind to the landscape when she's your date? She's slim and sexy as hell. I'm a sucker for smiles and she's got a big one. You really need to see her naked. It's quite the site to see her take off her clothes. She has nice tits and the flattest stomach. Some girls can give a hand job, and some girls can give a "HAND JOB". She's the latter. She uses all her assets. Pun intended. "
Oh, and the options for "pussy hair" are bald/shaven, big bush, and landing strip. One of the options for body type is "BBW." I do believe that stands for "big black woman."
I need to get a job freelance writing for the people who run these kind of websites. I could shit out more interesting copy, and at least it would be grammatically correct.
Time for the weekly skankfest. It looks like I just can't get away from the trannies. The episode opens with girls making comments about how manly Natasha and her man voice are. Bret brings out three "frumpy" girls for his current bitches to give makeovers. It's very She's All That, since it's obvious the girls are kind of pretty but dressed down. Natasha lets us know "I have an advantage in this challenge. I know what I'm doing. . . I'm obviously the queen of extreme makeovers." Is she letting the cat out of the bag? Or rather the cock out of the panties?
Bret announced that he is also a fan of natural breasts, and Farrah rolled her eyes. Her tits are offensive. My philosophy is if just one of your boobs is bigger than your head, you should have a matching gut. Farrah went on to say about a makeover contestant, "she's lookin' like a recovering heroin addict that was dressed up by a couple experimental monkeys." So you're saying she looked like any scrawny, pale-faced snatch walking for fashion shows?
Natasha had this to say about contestant Jennifer: "She dresses like a tacky crossdresser." I guess she would know, dressing like a tacky transsexual herself.
Our favorite girl Ashley mentioned that new girl Tammy "looks like Rosie O'Donnell if Rosie O'Donnell decided to wear make-up." She's quite astute. Later she spoke with Bret about Mr. Natasha: "I think, honestly what I really think is that she's a dude." She said at first it was a joke, but Natasha is weird, has a deeper voice than Bret, and wears tutus all the time because it hides her bulge. "I mean, have you ever seen her wear jeans? Hello! She's totally a man, and her real birth name was Nathaniel." Bless you black heart, sweety.
Old man Nasty decided to bring the new girls with him on tour: Jamie, Jennifer, and Kami; or, Sleepy, Snoozy, and Lunesta.
To wrap it up, Ashley spent the night with Bret, and Farrah said, "I'm not jealous of Ashley. I just wish I could have been there to participate or at least held the video camera for future fun times alone." *shudder*
Mantasha got the boot, and supposedly not because of her Adam's apple and prominent bulge. You can probably catch her every other Tuesday at Trannyshack. She's not classy enough to do something like the Baton Show Lounge. I just know her schtick is cutting herself on stage and pulling five yards of barbed wire analbeads from her ass to an Amy Grant song. No joke, they do shit like that at Trannyshack. Check it out if you're in the Bay Area! More on trannies later. . . RuPaul's Drag Race is fantastic, and I'll let you know all about it.
WHOA. Breaking news. Kind of. To me at least. I just spooked (nice usage, eh?) a comment on VH1's page about Natasha:
"mick Says:February 6th, 2009 at 2:05 am she is in porn bangbros, check her out inTugjobs update: “An Ohio Hand Job” "
I seriously feel like I'm about to cry. I've always been frightened of clowns, and it didn't help to read Stephen King's It when I was 11. I love zombie movies, and I was excited to watch George A. Romero's latest contribution to horror film: Diary Of The Dead. The main characters found a tape at some dead people's house which contained footage of a little girl's birthday party. Yay! Happy fun unicorn sunshine rainbow time! Then a fucking clown comes "shambling" from the house. The dad tries to honk his big red nose, but it bloodily breaks off. Then zombie clown attacks. Great. Now I have to watch out for zombie clowns. Not only do I have to be on the lookout for the Boogeyman, Blacula, and Tyra Banks, but now I must add zombie clowns to the list. Thanks, asshole.
Note: When used as a verb, spook can mean to notice, to spot, to discern, or to find out:
Person A) I'm hungry. Person B) I spooked a McDonald's a few blocks back, if you want to go there, fatty.
The adjective unspookable refers to something's ability to pass without notice or as normal. Therefore unspookabletrannies are transgendered individuals who can pass as the sex to which they were not born. Like Vivica Fox.
I haven't been lazy, just responsible. I have an important exam next month, so there will probably be some light posting days between now and then. But just like a woman's period, there could be some heavy flow days. And my vagina is ALWAYS wide-set.
I'll just share a story for now.
The Casino Debacle
It started as a normal night for Rex and me. We hung out at a local bar for a while, but we didn't really want to end the night when it closed. We went to a late-night bar that was open until 4 a.m. Let me tell you my look for the evening. The important components were my shirt and scarf. There were tight jeans, but forget about them. I was wearing a brown button-up long sleeve shirt with embroidered pockets on the titties in a western style. My scarf was silk with a multitude of colors in a zebra pattern on a navy background [read: GAAAAAAAAAAAAY]. I had it tied Boy Scout style. Rex kept asking the waitress if I looked like a gay cowboy or a gay boy scout. I would have accepted either answer. We met a funny guy in business attire whom I thought was named Kingston, but he kept correcting me. He was from Hong Kong and had an awesome accent, but I never did catch his real first name, although his last name was Kok, so that was cool. We "made friends" with about 4 random people and some douchebag who was following all of us. He kept talking about how rich he was. I disliked him instantly, and he proved throughout the next few hours that he had no redeeming qualities.
Four a.m. rolled around sooner than we thought, and we found ourselves out on the sidewalk chatting with our new friends. Someone commented that we should go to a casino. Okay. What? Before I could even process everything, we were in a cab heading to East Chicago (although I think it's technically Indiana). I hate gambling, but I figured we'd have fun anyway. That douchebag Richie Rich was not invited, but he decided he really wanted to gamble too, so he hopped in another cab with the two guys who didn't fit in ours. Rex and this girl were groping in the backseat with me right next to them, and I was over it already. Dude in the front seat was on the phone with his friends who got stuck with Richie. Apparently Richie had vomited out the window and was now trying to lie down across the backseat. We were a rather motley crew.
At the first casino we got to, Richie got to the front of our crew, and the guy checking IDs said he was too drunk to enter. Because he had arrived with us, this restriction extended to all of us as well. Richie blew up and started yelling that he could "buy this fucking place!" We decided to just go to another casino, so we told him where we were going. We lied. We said we'd meet him there. He made a phone call, and a Mercedes came to pick him up five minutes afterward. I don't really know what that was all about, but we lost him.
We got into the next casino and split up. The guys went to play poker, and Rex, the girl, and I went to the blackjack tables. The girl disappeared soon afterward, and we knew we'd just get home by ourselves. Here's the thing: we didn't exactly plan the evening, so we had only cash on us and no credit cards, etc. We played blackjack, and I quickly ran out of money, so Rex had me bet with his pot. I was betting the minimum, and he was betting anywhere from $25 to $100.
We were having a great time. We were up and down and all that. I eventually stopped playing because I hate losing money on gambling. I once played blackjack in Tahoe and stopped after I made $13. I told Rex to put aside one of his $100 chips so we would have enough to get home, since he had converted all his cash to chips, and I was out. I walked around for a little while, and when I returned, Rex was getting up from the table. At one point he was up $2,000, but now he had lost everything.
Fine, I thought, let's just go the fuck home. What are we doing here anyway? We looked around for the people we came with, but they must have left already. We made our way to the lobby and prepared to get a cab. "Wait," I said, "did you cash in the chip already?" "Oh fuck." We were stranded in fucking nowhere, Indiana with no money and no one to call. I don't even know that many people in Chicago with cars, and no one I could call at 10:00 a.m. in the middle of the week to pick my ass up in another state.
We somehow started talking to a black woman in the lobby also appeared to be waiting. Girl was fully pressed--hair, nails, everything. . . fanny pack. She was waiting for her sister or someone to pick her up and take her back to Chicago! Not far from where we were going, assuming she was telling the truth. We told her our plight and begged her for a ride. I could tell she was seriously considering it, and I was giving her sad puppy face.
At one point in the begging process, I stuck my hands in my back pockets, and I felt papery material. Could it be? Yes! I had been sticking change from getting drinks back there all night. It came to about $40, enough for the up-front payment to get a cab to take us to Chicago. Perfect, see you later, Keisha (not a joke). Rex said he had money at home, so we could pay the driver when we got there.
We slept in the back until we arrived at Rex's condo. He told the driver he'd be right back with his money, and the driver was extremely skeptical and insisted that I stay with him along with Rex's ID. Fine. Rex headed around the corner and into his building, and I waited in the car. It was taking forever, and I started to get nervous. Did he just ditch me? I got out of the car, and the driver started freaking out. I told I wasn't going anywhere, but I wasn't into feeling like a hostage. After a total of 15 minutes, I felt compelled to do something. When the driver was looking away, I bolted around the corner and up to Rex's door. He was in there frantically looking around, looking majorly confused. I asked, "well? What's the deal?" Apparently he thought he had more cash at home, but he must have taken everything to the casino. I suggested just going to an ATM, and he said that's all he has until next week. Fuck.
Then there was a knock on the door, and we looked at each other like, "oh shit." It was the doorman with Rex's ID saying there was cab driver downstairs who still needed to be paid. Rex said he'd be right down. Somehow he remember that he had a giant bowl of change in a drawer next to his Taser[1]. He straight up took the whole bowl down to the cabbie, and I was like, "okay, hope to see you soon." Sure enough he reappeared after a couple minutes as the driver had accepted the payment. When you have even a small bowl of change, the cash value is surprisingly larger than you might think. A bowl that size probably held around $80 or $90. The driver made his money plus a huge tip. . . albeit mostly in change.
I promised myself I would never go back to Indiana unless I absolutely had to. You never know--book tour, assassination attempt, etc. We collapsed and took a well-deserved nap. I was never happier to see Barack Obama than that moment.
[1]-Rex kept a taser in a drawer at his condo. I saw it one day asked, "what the fuck is with this?" He said he used to get wasted with his friends, and they'd shock each other with it. Nice. He pointed it at me and grinned, "wanna try it?" I said, "nooooooo!!! Get that the fuck away from me! I could die!" Maybe, maybe not. When I was in peak athletic shape, I had an abnormal ECG, and they wanted me to come back for an echocardiogram, basically an ultrasound of the heart. I never did. Sometimes I worry I might just drop dead of some heart condition unknown to me. Oh well, I think I'll go eat five pounds of bacon and sugar, smoke 20 cigarettes at once, and be generally sedentary. Beetus & heart probs, here I come!
(Hopefully you've seen the video already, but it doesn't really get old)
Today I was right next to a dude who fell on his face just after stepping off the bus. My glance briefly flicked in his direction, but I didn't even turn my head as I walked by. He fell in really soft snow, so it's not like he was hurt. But I felt a little bad that I didn't stop to see if he was okay, so I made sure not to outwardly laugh. That's nice, right? If I fell like he did and someone came up to me looking all compassionate, asking "are you alright?" I'd be like, "back off, asshole." And then the optional follow-up, depending on circumstances: "yeah, I'm talking to you, you ancient cunt."
I'm working on typing up a pretty good story, so in the mean time, here's that lame chain letter of 25 Things that's been going around Facebook. If you've already seen mine, then shut the fuck up and count yourself lucky to read it again.
1. I fell like I'm selling out by writing this.
2. My favorite short story is "Paul's Case" by Willa Cather.
3. No one taught me how to whistle when I was a kid. I taught myself in college, but I can only do one note.
4. A cat attacked me when I was 11, and I had to get 16 stitches on my head. It didn't hurt, but I now fear cats.
5. I loved how the antiseptic for the stitches made my pillow smell.
6. I'm obsessed with 80s sitcoms like Mama's Family, Golden Girls, and Murphy Brown.
7. I believe Taylor Momsen is a highly underrated actress. She's had exactly two amazingly emotional moments in Gossip Girl.
8. The only girl I ever dated was in 6th grade, and she's a lesbian now.
9. I once looked at a guy's Facebook page before our first date so I could pretend we had similar interests. I ended up disliking him, but I gained a few new favorite bands.
10. An old friend of mine drunkenly told me on several occasions that he was gay. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. He's now married, and I feel terribly guilty.
11. I apologize to people when I don't mean it to satisfy them.
12. I get really annoyed when people don't pick up after themselves, but when they do, it's never good enough for me.
13. I spent two weeks in China, and I decided not to visit the Great Wall. I regret it.
14. As part of my job I talk to old women about their vaginas and sex lives. I love it.
15. In grade school I got suspended because I was present when my friend told a girl that the grean beans he was eating tasted like her pussy. I didn't even know what "pussy" meant.
16. I used a bidet for the first time last year. It was life-changing.
17. I've been drinking up to 8 cups of coffee every day for a few months. I should really cut back.
18. I went to Spain when I was 15 and bought Shakira albums. I credit my success in the language to wanting to understand her lyrics.
19. For a few months I only ate vegetarian and drank soy milk. It was great.
20. I had a dream last night that I got in a fistfight with Stephen King because he was picking on me in the locker room. I know, wtf, I love him.
21. I'm Jewish, but there's something about Christmastime that I love.
22. I didn't listen to Katy Perry's "I Kissed A Girl" until last week because it bothers me that she used the same title as the 1995 Jill Sobule song.
23. I tell people I'm allergic to mayonnaise even though I'm not. It tastes terrible to me and makes me vom, but if I just tell people I don't like it, they scoff at me.
24. Poor grammar upsets me unless it's intentional. It really irks me when people misuse the subjunctive mood.
25. I wrote 20 of these last night, but my browser crashed. I only remembered 16 originals.
p.s. the spellcheck tool for blogger wanted me to changes "vaginas" to "vaginae." Vuh-jigh-knee
I rarely poo at work. On my first day back at work, I pooed in the morning before I started working, and it was a close call. When I flushed, the ahem, material went down the drain, but then the water level started to rise! Right before it was about to spill over I said a little prayer and flushed again. Luckily it worked that time, and there was no overflow of nasty blue water. I didn't really want to be the guy who fucked up the toilet my first day at work. Today was the first time I dropped a deuce during actual office hours. I'm a thorough wiper. I get it as clean as I can, and I would totally keep a stash of babywipes here for me. I prefer to save my poops for a time when I can shower afterward, but that's not always possible. Bidets are both practical and awesome. The point is I use a lot of terlet paper. That was the problem today. It's not like I took such a massive shit that the pipes couldn't handle it. I did my business during business hours, and a funny thought occurred to me: "watch today be the day the toilet overflows." I flushed, and the dense mass of toilet paper wouldn't go through the hole! I freaked out. I grabbed the toilet brush and tried to nudge it down to no avail. Meanwhile the water is rising, getting closer and closer to shaming me. I turned the stick around and jabbed the terletmass with the thin end to see if that made a difference while flushing again. The water continued to rise, and I gave up all hope. I started washing my hands, waiting for the inevitable. Then I heard a familiar noise. . . could it be? Yes! The toilet flushed properly! Crisis averted.
Here's part of a message I got from Lila a while back, names changed:
"Last week my slutty roommate Brianna had some guy named Winston spend the night. The next morning, he dropped a deuce in our toilet and left. When we went in, the whole thing was clogged and overflowing. Talk about getting up close and personal with the person you just slept with. We made Brianna unclog it."
